f^ff^ 


wt^ 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


Gift  of 


PROFESSOR  ROBERT  D.  HARLAN 


%'6 


GRAMMAR  OF  RHETORIC, 

AND 
(iOMPRfiHENDING 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  LANGUAGE  AND  STYLE, 

tHE  ELEMENTS  OF  TASTE  AND  CRITICISM ; 

WiTH 

RULES, 

FOR  THE  STUDY  OF  COMPOSITION  AND  ELOQUENCE 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 

APPROPRIATE  EXAMPLES, 

SELECTED    CHIEFLY  FROM 

TBE  BRITISH  CLASSICS. 

FOR   THE    USE    OP    SCHOOLS,    OK    PRIVATE    INSTRUCTIO.M. 


By  ALEXANDER  JAMIESON,  LL.  D. 


FOURTH   EDITION. 


NEW-HAVEN : 

rmXiB  AND  PUBLISHED    BY    A.  H,  MALTJJY  A««  Ct). 
1826. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THIS  Grammar  of  Rhetoric  is  designed  to  succeed,  in 
the  course  of  education,  the  study  of  English  Grammar.  At 
that  period,  the  young  student  is  most  likely  to  enter  with 
vigour  upon  the  study  of  a  branch  of  education,  which  has 
been  deemed  essential,  in  our  public  seminaries,  to  form  the 
mind  for  engaging  in  the  active  concerns  of  life.  It  is  then 
that  he  should  be  taught,  that  a  minute  and  trifling  study  of 
words  alone,  and  an  ostentatious  and  deceitful  display  of  or- 
nament and  pomp  of  expression,  must  be  exploded  from  his 
compositions,  if  he  would  value  substance  rather  than  ^o\\% 
and  good  sense  as  the  foundation  of  all  good  writing.  The 
principles  of  sound  reason,  must  then  be  employed  to  tame 
ihe  impetuosity  of  youthful  feeling,  and  direct  the  attention 
to  simplicity,  as  essential  to  all  true  ornament. 

In  prosecution  of  this  plan,  the  Author  has,  throughout 
this  work,  first  laid  down  the  principles  or  rules  of  legiti- 
mate Rhetoric ;  he  has  then  given  popular  illustrations  o! 
these  principles  or  rules  ;  he  has  neKt  confirmed  his  views 
In  the  illustrations,  by  appropriate  examples ;  and,  finally, 
,as  these  examples,  or  illustrations,  furnished  analyses  or 
corollaries,  he  has  endeavoured  to  make  them  t€nd  to  the 
Improvement  of  the  student's  good  taste,  and  of  true  orna 
;!nent  in  composition 


Rhetoricians  have  usually  introduced  their  pupils  to  a 
knowledge  of  their  art,  bj  some  history  of  the  origin  and 
progress  of  language.  Accordingly,  in  this  volume,  the  Au- 
thor has  followed  a  precedent,  which  the  world  has  long  ap- 
proved. The  FIRST  BOOK  treats  of  the  origin  and  structure 
of  those  external  signs,  which  are  used,  as  names,  attributes, 
or  actions  of  objects;  or  to  denote  the  various  operations  of 
the  mental  faculties,  with  which  it  is  our  business  to  become 
acquainted. 

The  SECOND  BOOK  treats  of  the  principles  of  General 
Grammar  ;  or,  in  other  words,  of  the  principles  upon 
which  philosophical  grammarians  have  attempted  to  discrim- 
inate and  classify  the  component  parts  of  human  speech, 
whether  spoken  or  written.  An  examination  of  the  na- 
ture AND  CHARACTER    OF    THE    USE    WHICH    GIVES  LAW  TO 

LANGUAGE,  naturally  followed  the  "  Principles  of  General 
Grammar,"  and  led  to  the  development  of  the  nature  and 
USE  OF  VERBAL  CRITICISM,  wUh  its  principal  rules,  or  can- 
ons, by  ivhichy  in  all  our  decisions^  ive  ought  to  be  directed. 
And  in  this  branch  of  the  subject,  the  object  has  been  to  ex- 
ercise the  understanding  and  natural  sensibility  of  the  pu- 
pil, by  the  exhibition  of  what  has  pleased  or  displeased  crit- 
ics, in  the  perusal  of  the  best  models  of  literary  composi- 
tion. It  is  presumed,  that  young  minds  will  thus  begin  to 
Think  and  feel  for  themselves ;  and,  by  the  directions  they 
I  eceive,  acquire  confidence  in  their  own  powers,  of  approv- 
ing- or  disapproving  whatever  falls  under  their  general  rea- 
?onino;s,  in  the  Higher  qualities  of  composition.  True  criti- 
cism will  teach  the  student  how  he  may  escape  those  errors 
and  mistakes,  to  which  he  may  be  exposed,  either  from  not 
understanding,  or  from  misapplying,  her  established  rules. 
But  to  render  her  assistance  most  effectual,  the  Author  has 
dwelt  very  fully  on  the  principles  of  Grammatical  Puri- 
ty, as  it  respects  barbarisms,  solecisms^  ideotisms,  vulgar- 


lNTRODueTto^^  y 

isms,  improfriety  in  phrases,  and  as  it  teaches  precision  ot 
expression  in  speech  or  writing. 

The  nature  and  structure  of  sentences,  the  gene- 
ral PRINCIPLES  OF  PERSPICUITY,  AND  THE  HARMONY  OF  PE- 
RIODS, which  are  illustrated  in  book  third,  have  utifolded 
numerous  errors  to  be  avoided  in  the  structure  of  sentences, 
and  the  arrangement  of  single  words.  The  qualities  of 
UNITY  and  STRENGTH,  in  the  structure  of  sentences,  have 
gathered  around  them  a  series  of  rules,  which,  if  applied  to 
the  exercises  that  the  pupil  should  be  required  to  write,  can- 
not fail  to  enlighten  his  mind,  and  govern  his  judgment,  in 
the  principles  and  practice  of  composition.  It  was  neces- 
sary, however,  to  show  how  much  perspicuity  of  languagk 
and  STYLE  contributed  to  the  elegance  of  classical  composi- 
tions and  eloquence  ;  and,  accordingly,  this  matter  is  treat- 
ed precisely  as  Dr.  Campbell  has  treated  it,  in  his  "  Philoso- 
phy of  Rhetoric."  No  writer  has  yet  excelled  Dr.  Blair,  in 
luminous  views  of  the  "  Harmony  of  Periods;"  and  these 
views  we  have  embodied  in  this  Grammar. 

In  BOOK  FOURTH,  the  principal  "  Rhetorical  Figures''  are 
treated  at  great  length,  and  illustrated  by  copious  examples, 
without,  however,  encumbering  the  mind  of  the  pupil  with 
catalogues  from  the  ancient  critics,  of  other  figures,  partly 
grammatical  and  partly  rhetorical,  which  would  have  fur- 
nished little  instruction,  and  less  amusement.  For  it  is, 
perhaps,  not  the  least  task  on  the  part  of  the  instructors  of 
youth,  to  render  their  precepts  engaging,  by  vivacity  of  im- 
agination, and  the  charms  of  genuine  ornament.  This,  how- 
ever, is  an  inferior  merit,  when  compared  with  the  chaste - 
ness  and  morality  which  should  distinguish  examples  and 
illustrations  selected  for  youth.  The  principles  of  virtue 
and  honour,  of  delicacy  and  refined  taste,  are,  it  is  hoped, 
inculcated  throughout  these  examples,  with  that  assiduity 
which  will  entitle  the  Author  to  the  humble  reputation  of 


>  i  INTRODUCTION. 

having  laboured  to  improve,  in  those  for  whom  he  wrote,  the 
important  liabits  of  a  religious  education. 

In   BOOK  FIFTH,  the    NATURE  OF  TASTE,  and  the  SOURCES 

OF  ITS  PLEASURES,  Compiled  partly  from  Dr.  Blair's  Lec- 
tures, partly  from  Lord  Kames's  Elements  of  Criticism, 
and  agreeably  to  Alison's  "  Essays  on  Taste,"  have  been 
set  in  such  lights,  as  may  enable  the  youthful  mind  to  attain 
some  practical  acquaintance  with  the  productions  of  genius, 
in  Poetry,  Sculpture,  or  Painting.  A  correct  perception  of 
the  excellencies  of  composition  and  eloquence,  is  closely 
connected  with  a  knowledge  of  the  productions  in  the  fine 
arts.  The  young  student,  on  being  made  acquainted  with 
the  principles  which  regulate  the  sta?i(Iard  of  taste,  so  far 
from  learning  to  suspend  the  exercise  of  his  own  judgment, 
is  taught  to  investigate  the  grounds  upon  which  those  prin- 
ciples are  supported,  and  in  comparing  them  with  the  sim- 
ple dictates  of  his  own  mind,  to  form,  from  the  various 
sources  which  reading  and  reflection  may  afford  him,  the 
elements  of  rearing  for  himself  a  Standard  of  taste,  to 
which,  in  more  matured  life,  he  may  refer  such  productions  of 
the  fine  arts,  or  of  polite  literature,  as  fall  under  his  obser- 
vation. 

Book  sixth,  appropriated  to  the  general  x:haracters  of 
style,  treats,  first,  of  the  diffuse  and  concise  styles  of  compo- 
sition ;  secondly,  of  the  dry,  plain,  neat,  elegant,  and  flow- 
ing styles;  thirdly,  of  the  simple,  affected,  and  vehement 
tyles  ;  and  then  gives  directions  for  forming  style.  Of 
what  importance  the  illustrations  and  examples  of  these 
several  styles  must  be  in  the  composition  of  themes,  it  is 
niperfluous  here  to  speak.  The  remaining  chapters  of  Book 
VL  are  devoted  to  "  The  Conduct  of  a  Discourse  in  all  its 
Parts  ;^^ — to  "Historical  Writing,"^^ — '' Jinnals,^^ — «  iUc- 
moirs,^^ — "  Biography,^^ — "  Philosophical  Wnting,''^"-^^ 
"■  Dialogiie,^^  and  Epistolatory  Correspondence,-' 


rNTRODUCTIOxS.  Vli 

In  BOOK  SEVENTH,  the  origin  and  different  kinds  of  Po- 
etry are  handled  more  with  a  view  to  form  the  pupil's  taste 
ior  the  study  of  Poetry,  than  to  inspire  him  with  the  thirst  of 
reaping  fame  in  the  doubtful  field  of  poetic  composition. 
Yet,  to  those  whose  genius  may  lead  them  that  way,  the 
principles  of  poetic  composition,  of  its  several  styles,  and 
of  the  ornaments  which  it  admits,  cannot  fail  to  prove  use 
ful. 

The  conclusion  of  the  work  treats  of  pronunciation,  or 
delivery,  as  it  respects,  chiefly,  public  speaking;  and  here, 
as  in  Book  VI.  and  VII.  the  labours  of  the  Author's  pre- 
decessors have  chiefly  furnished  principles  and  illustra 
lions. 

London,  August  £4  >  1 8 1 8 . 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 


<)F    LANGUAGE    AND    STYLE,    AS    THE    FOUNDATION    OF    ELO- 
QUENCE. 

Pajfe 
CHAPTER  I. — Of  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  Languag^e  in  the 

Structure  and  Composition  of  Werds  19 

CHAPTER  II. — Of  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  Language  in  the 

Manner  of  uttering  and  pronouncing  Words  23 

CHAPTER  III.— Of  the  Progress  of  Language  in  the  Style 

and  Character  of  Speech  25 

CHAPTER  IV.— Of  the  Rise  and.  Progress  of  Language,  as 

respects  the  Order  and  Arrangement  of  Words  in  Sentences         27 
Conclusion  31 

CHAPTER  v.— Of  the  Origin  and  Progress  of  Writing  ib, 

CHAPTER  VI. — A  Comparison  of  spoken  with  written  Lan- 
guage ;  or  of  Words  uttered  in  our  hearing,  with  Words 
represented  to  the  Eye     *  35 


BOOK  II. 


OF    THE  STRUCTURE  OF  LANGUAGE;    OR  THE  PRINCIPLES  bp 
GENERAL  GRAMMAR. 

CHAPTER  I.— -Of  the  several  Parts  of  which  Speech  or  Lan- 
guage ii  composed  37 
Of  Nouns  38 
Of  Number  39 
Of  Ca»e8  40 
Of  Gender  ib. 
Of  Articles  41 


X  €  CONTENT/. 

Of  Prononns  42 

Of  Adjectives  ib. 

Of  the  Verb  43 

Of  Tenses  44 

Theory  of  Moods  45 

Auxiliaries  47 

The  Infinitive  Mood  ib. 

Of  the  Adverb  48 

Prepositions  49 

Conjunctions  ib. 

Interjections  60 
CHAPTER  II.— The  Nature  and  Character  of  the  Use  which 

gives  Law  to  Language                                                      "  ib. 
Language  mainly  a  species  of  Fashion  ib. 
Use,  or  the  Custom  of  Speaking,  the  sole  original  Standard  of 
Conversation,  as  far  as  respects  the  Expression;  and  the  Cus- 
tom of  Writing  the  chief  Standard  of  Style  61 
Reputable  Use  *b. 
Vulgarisms  ib. 
Authors  of  Reputation  62 
National  Use  63 
The  English  Language,  properly  so  called  |b. 
Professional  Dialects  ib. 
National  Use,  as  opposed  to  Foreign  ib. 
Present  Use  64 
CHAPTER  III— The  Nature  and  Use  of  verbal  Criticism,  with 
its  principal  Rules  or  Canons,  by  which,  in  all  our  decisions, 
we  ought  to  be  directed  65 
Good  Use  56 
The  divided  Use  ib. 
Conon  the  First,  when  Use  is  divided  as  to  any  particular  Word 

or  Phrase  67 
Canon  the  Second.     In  doubtful  cases,  regard  ought  to  be  had, 

in  our  decisions,  to  the  Analogy  of  the  Language  ib. 

Canon  the  Third,  prefers  what  is  most  agreeable  to  the  Ear  ib. 

Canon  the  Fourth,  allows  simplicity  to  determineour  choice  68 
Canon  the  Fifth,  prefers  what  is  most  conformable  to  ancient 

Usage  ib. 
Every  thing  favoured  by  good  Use,  is  not  on  that  account  wor- 
thy to  be  retained  ib. 
Conon  the  Sixth,  points  out  such  Words  and  Phrases  as  merit 

degradation  69 
Criteria,  by  which  we  may  discriminate  the  objectionable  Words 

from  all  others  60 

Canon  the  Seventh,  points  to  Words  that  require  dismission  61 

Canon  the  Eighth,  respects  Words  become  obsolete  ib. 
Canon  the  Ninth,  enables  us  to  detect  Solecisms  and  idiomatical 

Phrases  ib 
Canon  the  Tenth,  regards  the  suppression  of  a  significant  Term, 

which  haili  come  into  good  Use  63 

CHAPTER  IV— Of  Grammatical  Purity  64 

Pure  English  Composition  iVv 


OONTENTS.  XI 

"the  reproach  of  Barbarism  may  be  incurred  in  three  different 
ways :  1st,  By  the  Use  of  Words  entirely  obsolete  ;  2dly,  By 
the  Use  of  Words  entirely  new,  or,  thirdly,  By  new  Fornaa- 
tions  and  Compositions,  from  simple  and  primitive  Words  in 

present  Use  ^^ 

By  the  Use  of  absolete  Words  ib. 

The  Use  of  new  Words  iuuudat*»s  a  Language  ib. 

By  the  use  of  good  words  new  modelled  ^ 

The  Solecism  ^7 

The  Impropriety  ^^ 

Of  improprieties  arising  from  a  similitude  ia  Sense  ib. 

The  Idiotism  7^ 

The  Pleonasm  ^^- 

The  V^ulgarism  '* 

Impropriety  in  Phrases  ^^ 

Precision  ^"^ 

Of  Words  reckoned  Synonymous  "^7 


BOOK  III. 


^N  THE  NATURE  AND  STRUCTURE  OF  SENTENCES,  THE  GENE- 
RAL PRINCIPLES  OF  PERSPICUITY,  AND  THE  HARMONY  OF 
PERIODS. 

CHAPTER  I.— Of  the  Nature  of  Sentences  and  Periods  81 

Simple  Sentences  S3 

Complex  Sentences  *h. 

Short  Sentences  84 

The  full  Period  85 
©HAPTER  II.— Of  the  Errors  to  be  avoided  in  the  Structure 

of  Sentences,  and  the  Arrangement  of  Single  Words  86 

The  Arrangement  of  the  Agent,  the  Action,  and  the  Subject  88 
Of  the   Arrangement  of  the  other  Parts  of  Speech,  Pronouns, 

Participles,  Prepositions,  and  Conjunctions  ib. 

eHAPTER  III,— On  the  Structure  of  Sentences  90 

The  distinction  of  Long  and  Short  ones  ib« 

The  Properties  most  essential  to  a  perfect  Sentence  91 

Clearness  and  Precision  ib. 

In  the  Position  of  Adverbs  92 

In  Circumstances  in  the  middle  of  a  Sentence  ib. 
In  the  proper  Disposition  of  the  relative  Pronouns,  who,  which, 

what,  whose  ib. 
Unity  94 
Strength  96 
Redundant  Words,  redundant  Members,  new  Ideas,  new  Tiioughts  97 
The  Copulative  Particle  ib. 
Disposition  of  the  capital  Word  or  Words  100 
The  Members  of  Sentences  rising  and  growing  in  their  Impor- 
tance above  one  another  102 
Oratorical  Climax  ih 


-\11  CON'TKNTS, 

Page 

CHAPTER  IV.— Perspicuity  10(> 

Obscurity. — The  Obscure  from  Defect  107 

From  bad  Arrangement  ib. 

The  same  Word  used  in  different  Senses  lOS 

From  too  artificial  a  Structure  of  the  Sentence  109 

Technical  Terras  ib. 

CHAPTER  v.— The  double  Meaning  ih. 

Equivocation  '  ib. 

CHAP'JER  VI.— Ambiguity  112 

In  Adjectives  114 

In  the  Use  of  Substantive  Nouns  ib. 

Ambiguity  in  using  the  Conjunctions  ib. 

In  a  narticular  Clause  or  Expression  116 

•  lie  squinting  Construction  ib. 

HAPTER  VII.— Of  the  Unintelligible  116 

Clie  UtnntellijL'ible  from  Confusion  of  Thought  ib. 

The  Unintelligible  from  Affectation  of  Excellence  117 

CHAPTER  VIlI.—The  various  Species  of  the  Unintelligible  118 

The  Unintelligible  from  want  of  Meaning  in  the  Writer  ib. 

The  Puerile  119 

The  learned  iNonsense  ib. 

The  Profound  120 

The  Marvellous  ib. 

CHAPTER  IX— Of  the  Harmony  of  Periods  121 

How  a  melodious  Structure  is  formed  122 

The  Distribution  of  the  several  Members  124 

L  !)c  Close  or  Cadence  of  the  whole  Sentence  125 

\  falling  off  at  the  End  always  injurious  ib. 

Vivarity    and   Strength    of    Composition    promoted  ;  various 

Measures  125 
\ll  Appearances  affecting  Harmony  are  disagreeable  127 
i  he  Current  of  Sound  adapted  to  the  Tenor  of  a  Discourse  128 
CHAPTER  X — Resemblance  between  Sound  and  Sense — In- 
version 129 
Inversion  132 
The  Inversions  of  Modern  Languages  133 


BOOK  IV. 


or  FIGURES. 


13t> 
ib. 


CHAPTER  I.— Of  the  Character  and  Advantage  of  Figures 
Figures  of  W^ords 
Figures  of  Thought  ib. 

Tropes,  or  Figures  137 

Table   of  Figures,  which,  among  related   Objects,  extend  the 

Properties  one  to  another 
Table  of   Subjects  expressed  figuratively 
Table  of  Attributes  expressed  fignrativcly 


139 
140 
142 


CHAPTER  II.— Metaphor  U;S 


0OKTENTS.  XUl 

Page 
All  Metaphor  imports   Comparison,  and  is,  in   that  respect,  a 

Figure  of  Thought  143 
Of  all  the  Figures  of  Speech,  none  comes  so  near  to  painting 

as  Metaphor  144 
Metaphors  must  be  suited  to  the  Nature  of  the  Suhject  of  which 

we  treat  ib. 
The  Choice  of  Objects  from  whence  Metaphors,  and  other  Fig- 
ures are  to  be  drawn.  145 
Metaphors   drawn  from   Objects  of  Resemblance,  which  is  the 
Foundation  of  the  Metaphors,  be  clear  and  perspicuous,  not 
far-fetched,  nor  difficult  to  discover  146 
In  the  Conduct  of  Metaphors,  we  are   never  to  jumble  meta- 
phorical and  plain  Language  together  147 
?Jever  make  two  different  Metaphors  meet  on  one  Object  148 
Addison's  Rule  for  examining  the  Propriety  of  Metaphors  149 
Metaphors  must  not  be  too  far  pursued  160 
CHAPTER  III. — Comparisons  or  Similes  152 
The  Difference  between  Comparisons  or  Similes  ib. 
All  Comparisons  may  be  reduced  to  the  following  Heads  153 
Explaining  Comparisons  ib. 
Embellishing  Comparisons  154 
Comparisons  employed  to  elevate  or  depress  the  principal  Object  155 
tiomparisons  should  not  be  instituted  between  Objects,  the  Re- 
semblance of  which  is  either  obscure,  faint,  or  remote  156 
Comparisons  should  not  be  deduced  from  Objects  which  rise 

much  above  the  primary  Object.  157 
Comparison.*  destitute  of  Dignity,  transfer  Insignificance  to  the 

principal  Object  ib 
Comparisons  are   censurable  when  they  prompt   Feelings  dis- 
cordant with  the  Aim  of  the  principal  Object,  or  when  they 

suggest  Sentiments  painful  or  disagreeable  15S 
Comparisons  should  never  be  founded  on  Resemblances  which 

are  too  obvious  and  familiar, nor  on  those  which  are  imaginary  ib. 
Extended  Similes  may  be  introduced  with  Advantage  on  vari- 
ous Occasions  15J} 
Improper  Occasions  on  which  circumstantial  Similics  make  their 

Appearance  160 
Short  Similes  appear  in  the  most  passionate  Scenes  161 
CHAPTER  IV.— Personification  162 
Descriptive  Personification  ib. 
Passionate  Personification  164 
The  English  Language  possesses  a  singular  Advantage  in  mark- 
ing Personification  16G 
A  capital  Error  in  Personification,  is  to  deck  the  Figure  with 

fantastic  and  trifling  Circumstances  ib. 
Personifications  sliould  not  be  introduced  when  the  Subject  of 

Discussion  is  destitu-e  of  dignity  1(57 

CHAPTER  V.-.AIlegory  1G8 

Allegory  ornamental  169 

Allegories  communicate  Instruction  ib. 

Allegory  of  a  moral  Species  170 

The  Allegory  of  Prodicus  ib. 

The  Tablature  of  Cebes  ]7j 


XIV  CONTEXTS. 

Allegories  calculated  both  for  Ornament  and  Instruction  171 
Homer  personifies  Prayers  172 
CHAPTER  VI.— Apostrophe  174 
Pictnresque  Apostrophe  ih. 
Apostrophes  class  the  OiTspring-  of  deep  Agitation  175 
\  principal  Error  in  the  Use  of  Apostrophe,  is  to  deck  the  Ob- 
ject addressed  with  affected  Ornaments  Jb, 
Viiothcr  frequent  Error  is,  to  extend  this   Figure  to  too  great 

Length  ii» 

Apostrophe  frequently  appeared  in  the  Oratory  of  Antiquity  176 

Apostrophe  in  modern  Oratory  ib. 

CHAPTER  VIl— Hyperbole  177 

This  Figure  peculiarly  graceful  and  pleasant  178 

All  Discourse  and  Writing  admit  Hyperbole  ib. 

f>rors  in  the  Use  of  Hyperbole  179 
i]ypcrl)oles  are  not  properly  introduced  till  the  Mind  of  the 

Reader  is  prepared  to  relish  them  180 
;  lyperboles- improper  wh/jn  they  m.iy  be  turned  against  the  Ar- 
gument of  the  Author  who  uses  them  181 
'  HAPTER  VIIL— Climax,  or  Amplification  ib. 
I'he  Efft!ct  of  this  Figure  182 
Climax  appears  with  Grace  in  the  calmer  Parts  of  Oratory  ib. 
It  is  consistent  with  moderate  Agitation  ib. 
<  flAPTKR  IX.— The  Antithesis  183 
\ntithesis  makes  the  irrost  brilliant  Appearance  in  tlie  Delinea- 
tion of  Characters,  particularly  in  History  184 
r^nsticcessful  Attempts  have  been  nmd^  to  acquire  it  185 
V  Climax  and  Antithesis  conjoined  and  carried  on  through  sev- 
eral Seutcnces  ib, 
CHAPTER  X. — Interrogation,  Repetition,  Exclamation,  Irony^ 

and  Vision  18(> 

interrogation  gives  Life  and  Spirit  to  Di.scotirse  ib. 

Interrogation  used  to  rouse  and  awaken  the  Hearers  ib. 

Interrogation  commands  with  great  Emphasis  187 

Interrogation  denotes  plaintive  Passion  ib. 

Repetition  is  significant  of  Contrast  and  Energy  ibi 

Exclamations  the  Efl'ect  of  strong  Emotions  of  the  Mind  ib. 

V^ision  proper  only  in  animated  and  warm  Compositions  188 

Vision  in  Tragedy  ig^ 

Irony  ib^ 

cTxclamations  and  Irony  arc  sometimes  united  190 


BOOK  V. 


*N  THE  NATURE  OF  TASTE,  AND  THE   SOIUCES  Of  ITS  PLEAS^ 
URES. 

CHAPTER  I.— Taste  192. 

raste  is  possessed  in  different  Degrees  by  different  Men  ib. 

taste,  an  improvable  Faculty,  and  refined  by  Education  193 


CONTEKTS.^ 


Page 


Exercise  is  the  Source  of  Improvement  in  all  our  Faculties,  in 
our  bodily,  in  our  mental  Powers,  and  even  in  our  external 

Senses  ^^3 
The  Improvement  of  Taste,  from  the  Application  of  Reason  and 
good  Sense,  to   Works   of  Composition,  and   Productions   of 

Genius  ^94 
Delicacy  and  Correctness  the  Characters  of  Taste,  when  brought 

to  its  most  improved  State  195 
Correctness  of  Taste  il>- 
Delicacy  and  Correctness  of  Taste  mutually  imply  each  other  ib. 
The  Diversity  of  Tastes  which  prevails  among  Mankind  196 
Standard  of  Taste  197 
Uniformity  of  Tast€  and  Sentiment  resulting  from  our  Convic- 
tion of  a  common  Standard  199' 
CHAPTER  IL— Criticism  200 
Transgressions  of  the  Laws  of  Criticism  202- 
CHAPTER  III— Of  Genius  ib. 
This  Talent  improved  by  Art  and  Study  203 
A  Genius  for  any  of  the  fine  Arts  alwavs  supposes  Taste  ib. 
CHAPTER  IV.'— The  Sources  of  the  Pleasures  of  Taste  204 
The  Pleasures  of  Imagination  ib. 
The  Pleasure  which  arises  from  Sublimity  or  Grandeur  205 
Of  external  Grandeur  ib. 
The  terribly  Sublime,  Darkncs^t,  Solitude,  and  Silence  206 
The  moral  or  sentimental  Sublime  208 
High  Virtue  the  most  natural  and  fertile  Source  of  this  moral 

Sublimity  ib. 

CHAPTER  v.— The  SubUme  in  Writing  209^ 
The   sacred   Scriptures  afford  us  the  highest  Instances  of  the 

Sublime  210 
Homer  greatly  admired  for  Sublimity  21  T 
The  Works  of  Ossian  abound  with  Examples  of  the  Sublime  ib. 
Conciseness  and  Simplicity  essential  to  sublime  Writing  212 
Milton  an  Author  whose  Genius  led  him  emmcntly  to  the  Sub- 
lime 213 
Strength  is  another  necessary  Requisite  in  sublime  Writing  214 
The  Sublime  depends  upon  a  jwst  Selection  of  Circumstances  215 
The  Faults  opposite  to  the  Sublime,  are  chiefly  two  ;  first,  the 

Frigid  ;  and,  secondly,  the  Bombast  216 

CHAPTER  VI.— Beauty,  and  other  Pleasures  of  Taste  217 

Colour,  the  simplest  Instance  of  Beauty  2J8 

Figure  opens  to  us  Forms  of  Beauty  complex  and  diversified:  ib. 

Regularity  a  Source  of  Beauty  ib, 

Hogarth's  Analysis  of  Beauty  219 

Motion  another  Source  of  Beauty  ib. 

The  Beauty  of  the  Human  Countenance  221 
Beauty  arising  from  the  Perception  of  Means  being  adapted  to 

an  End  ib. 
This  Sense  of  Beauty,  in  Fitness  and  Design,  has  an  extensive 

Influence  over  many  of  our  Ideas  222 

Of  Beauty,  as  it  is  applied  to  Writing  or  Discourse  ib. 

Novelty  223 

Imitation  is  another  Source  ib; 


,  i  CONTENTS, 

The  Pleasures  of  Melody  and  Harmony  223 
Wit,   Humour^  and  Ridicule,  open  a   V^aiietv   oi  Picasures   to 

Taste  224 

Wit  ib. 

Humour  ib. 

RidicTde  ib 


BOOK  VI. 


THE  GENERAL    CHARACTERS    Ox-    STYLfc. 

H  AFTER  f— The  Diffuse  and  Concise  Styles  22i 
\  diffuse  Style  generally  abounds  in  long  Period*  230 
I  lie  Nervous  and  the  Feeble  of  the  same  Import  with  the  Con- 
cise and  the  Diffuse  il>. 
CHAPTER  H.— Of  the  Dry,  Plain,  Neat,  and  Flowery  Style  232 
A  drv  Manner  ib. 
A  plain  Style  233 
A  neat  Style  ib. 
An  elegant  Style  ib, 
A  florid  Style  234 
CHAPTER  IH.— The  Simple,  Affected,  and  Vehement  Styles  2:35 
Simplicity  of  Composition  ib. 
Simplicity  of  Thought  ib. 
•Simplicity  opposed  to  Ornament  or  Pomp  of  Language  236 
iiupiicity  respecting  the  easy  and  natural  Manner  in  which  our 
Language  expresses  our  Thoughts  ib 
•  lie  highe>>t  Degree  of  this  Simplicity  237 
iinplicity  in  general  ib. 
Simplicity,  the  grc.t  Beauty  of  Archbishop  Tillotson's  Manner  ib. 
Sir  William  Temple,  another  remarkable  VVriter  in  the  Stvle  of 

Simplicity                                                                                    '  238 

\ddison  the  most  perfect  Exaoiple  of  this  Style  ib 

An  Author  may  write  simply,  and  yet  not  beautifully  240 

Of  the  Vehement  i\). 

Lord  Bolingbroke's  Style  241 

CHAPTER  IV.— Directions  tor  forming  Style  242 
The  Foundation  of  all  good  Style,  is  good  Sense,  accompanied 

with  a  lively  Imagination  ib. 
In  order  to  form  a  good  Style,  the  frequent  Practice  of  Com- 
posing indispensably  necessary  ib. 
With  respect  to  the  Assistance   that  is  to   be  gained  from  the 

Writings  of  others  244 

Danger  of  a  servile  Imitation  of  any  Author  ib. 
Style  must  be  adapted  to  the  Subject,  and   to  the  Capacity  of 

one's  Readers  jb. 
CHAPTER  V — Conduct  of  a  Discourse  in  all  its  Parts— Intro- 
duction, Divisico.  i\ajratioi».  and  Exj>l!cation  245 
The  Exordium,  or  Introduction,  common  to  all  kinds  of  public 

Speaking  246 


C0NTENT9.  Xyil 

Page 

First,  to  conciliate  the  good  Will  of  the  Hearer.s  245 

Secondly,  to  raise  the  Attention  of  the  Hearers  ib. 

The  Introduction  should  be  easy  and  natural  247 

Introductions  should  not  be  planned,  till  after  one  has  meditated 

in  his  own  mind  the  Substance  of  his  Discourse  ib. 

Correctness  should  be  carefully  studied  in  the  Expression  ib. 

Modesty  is  another  Character  which  it  must  carry  ib. 

An  Introduction  should  usually  be  carried  on  without  Vehe- 
mence and  Passion  248 

Introductions   must  not  anticipate  any   material  Part  of  the 

Subject  ib. 

The  Introduction  ought  to  be  proportioned,  both  in  length,  and 

in  kind,  to  the  Discourse  that  is  to  follow  ib. 

The  Pi-oposition  or  Enunciatien  ib. 

The  Division  249 

First,  the  several  Parts  into  which  the  Subject  is  divided  must 

be  really  distinct  from  one  another  ib. 

Secondly,  in  Division,  we  must  take  care  to  follow  the  Order  of 

Nature  ib. 

Thirdly,   the  several  Members  of  a  Division  ought  to  exhaust 

the  Subject  ib. 

Fourthly,    the  Terms    in  which  our   Partitions   are   expressed 

should  be  as  concise  as  possible  ib. 

Fifthly,  avoid  an  unnecessary  Multiplication  of  Heads  250 

Narration,  or  Explication  ib. 

To  be  clear  and  distinct,  to  be  probable,  and  to  be  concise,  are 

the  Qualities  which  Critics  chiefly  require  in  Narration  ib. 

Of  the  argumentative  or  reasoning  Part  of  a  Discourse  251 

The  analytic,  and  the  synthetic  Methods  of  Reasoning  ib. 

Avoid  blending  Arguments  confusedly  together,  that  are  of  a 

separate  Nature  252 

the  three  great  Subjects  of  Discussion  among   Mankind,  are, 

Truth,  Duty,  and  Interest  ib. 

With  regard  to  the  different  Degrees  of  Strength  in  Argu- 
ments, the  general  Rule  is,  to  advance  in  the  way  of  Climax  263 

Observe  not  to  extend   Arguments  too  far,  and  multiply  them 

too  much  ib. 

The  Pathetic,  in  which,  if  any  where.  Eloquence  reigns  254 

Consider  carefully,  whether  the  Subject  admit  the  Pathetic,  and 
render  it  proper,  and  if  it  does,  what  Part  t>f  the  Discourse 

is  the  fittest  for  attempting  it  ib. 

Never  to  set  apart  a  Head  of  a  Discourse  in  form,  for  raising 

any  Passion  ib. 

The  Difference  between  showing  the   Hearers  that  they  ought 

to  be  moved,  and  actually  moving  them  255 

The  only  effectual  Method  is,  to  be  moved  yourself  ib. 

Attention  to  the  proper  Language  of  the  Passions  ib. 

Avoid  interweaving  any  Thing  of  a  foreign  Nature  with  the  pa- 
thetic Part  of  a  Discourse  256 

Never  attempt  prolonging  the  Pathetic  too  much  ib. 

Concerning  the  Peroration,  or  Conclusion  ib. 

CHAPIER  VI.— Historical  Writing  257 

Historical  Composition  comprehends  Annals^  Memoirs,  Lives  ib. 


XV  111  CONTENTS. 


t^gt 


In  order  to  fulfil  the  End  of  History,  the  Author  must  study  to 
trace  to  their  Springs  the  Actions  and  Events  which  he  re- 
cords 268 

The  first  Virtues  of  historical  Narration,  are  Clearness,  Order, 

and  due  Connection  259 

Gravity  must  always  be  maintained  in  the  Narration  ib. 

The  Embellishment  of  Orations  260 

The  drawing  of  Characters  one  of  the  most  splendid,  and  at 
the  same  time,  one  of  the  most  difficult  Ornaments  of  histori- 
cal Composition  ib. 

Sound  Morality  should  always  reign  in  History  261 

Memoirs  ib. 

Biography  262 

Great   Improvement  of  late  Years  introduced  into  historical 

Composition  ib 

CHAPTER  VII.— Philosophical  Writing,  Dialogue,  and  Epis- 
tolary Correspondence  26S 

Epistolary  Writing  264 


BOOK  VII. 


POETRY. 

CHAPTER  I.—The  Origin  and  Progress  of  Poetrv  267 

CHAPTER  II.— Versification                                        '  271 

Feet  and  Pauses  the  constituent  Parts  of  Versfe  272 

Of  poetical  Feet  ib. 

The  Nature  of  the  Principal  Feet  273 

Secondary  Feet  277 

Blank  Verse  279 

CHAPTER  III.— Of  Pastoral  Poetry  280 

Theocritus  and  Virgil  281 

Pope's  Pastorals  ib. 

Shenstone's  Works  283 

The  Amynta  of  Tasso  283 

Pastor  Fido  of  Guarini  ib. 

The  Gentle  Shepherd  of  Allan  Ramsay  ib. 

M.  Gesner's  Pastoral  Compositions  284 

CHAPTER  IV.— Lyric  Poetry  ib. 

The  Odes  of  Pindar,  Sappho,  and  Anacreou  285 
The  English  Lyric  Poets,  are  Dryden,  Pope,  Addison,  Gray, 

and  Akenside  ib. 

CHAPTER  v.— Didactic  Poetry  286 

The  Essay  on  Man  288 

Satirists  ib. 

CHAPTER  VL— Descriptive  Poetry  290 

Thomson's  Seasons                             '  ib. 

Milton's  Allegro  291 

Penseroso  ib. 

Parnel's  Hermit  292 


Cp]<fTENTS.  Xix 

CHAPTER  VII.— Epic  Poetry  2*^3 

Episodes  296 

The  Unity  of  the  Epic  Action  297 

Personages  proper  to  the  Poem  299 

Poetic  Characters  are  general  and  particular  ib. 

The  Machinery  of  the  Epic  Poem  300 

CHAPTER  Vlll.— On  Pronunciation,  or  Delivery  302 

Distinctness  of  Articulation  ib. 

Emphasis,  Pauses^  Tones,  and  Gestures  303 

Emphatical  Pauses  304 
Tones  in  Pronunciation  consist  in  the  Modulation  of  the  Voice, 

and  the  Notes  or  Variations  of  Sound  305 

Of  Gesture  ib 


M 


^* 


A 

GRAMMAR    OF  RHETORIC. 


OF  LANGUAGE  AND  STYLE 
AS  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


CHAPTER  L 

OF  THE  RISE  AND  PROGRESS    OF    LANGUAGE    IN   THE  STRUG- 
TURE  AND   COMPOSITION  OF  WORDS. 

J   1"    ANGUAGE  may  be  defined,  the  art  of  communi- 
'  A_J   eating  thought,  or  the  ideas  of  the  mind,  by  certain 
articulate  sounds,  which  are  used  as  signs  of  those  ideas, 

[llustralion.  Articiilate  sounds  are  those  modulations  of  siraple 
voice,  or  of  sound  emitted  from  the  thorax,  which  are  formed  by  means 
of  the  mouth,  and  its  several  organs,  the  teeth,  the  tongue,  the  lips,  and 
the  palate. 

2.  The  connexion  between  words  and  ideas  is  arbitrary 
and  conventional,  owing  to  the  agreement  of  men  among 
themselves. 

Illus.  Different  nations  have  different  languages,  or  a  different  set 
of  articulate  sounds,  which  they  have  chosen,  or  framed,  for  commu- 
nicating their  ideas. 

3.  When  we  consider  loritten  language  as  a  symbol  of 
spoken,  and  spoken  language  as  a  representation  of  our 
ideas,  and  observe  also  how  little  relation  subsists  between 
letters  and  sounds,  and  again  between  sounds  and  ideas,  we 
shall  be  satisfied  that  much  artifice  and  singul^^efibrts  of 
ingenuity  were  at  first  employed  in  the  construction  of  lan- 
guage, that  it  might  accomplish  the  purposes  of  communica- 
tion. 


10  Of  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  Language 

Corollary.  As  speech  must  have  been  absolutely  necessary  previoti>. 
fo  the  formation  of  society,  the  language  of  the  first  men,  would  be 
barely  adequate  to  their  present  occasions  ;  but  they  would  enlarge 
and  improve  it  as  their  future  necessities  required. 

4.  The  cries  of  passion,  accompanied  with  such  motions 
^nd  gestures,  as  are  further  expressive  of  passion,  are  the 
only  signs  which  nature  teaches  all  men,  and  which  all 
understand.     (Art,  30.  and  31.) 

Illus.  Cries  indicative  of  fear,  and  gestures  expressive  of  peril,  would 
be  used  by  him  wlio  «?ought  to  warn  his  neighbour  of  danger, 

Carol.  Those  exclamations,  therefore,  which  have  obtained  the  name 
^f  INTERJECTIONS,   uttcred  in   a  strong  and  passionate  manner,  were, 
beyond  doubt,    in   the  rudest  ages  of  the  world,  the  first  element*;  or 
bcginnings  of  speech.     Names  began  to  be  assigned  to  objecr 
more  enlarged  communications  became  necessary. 

5.  The  invention  of  words  arose  from  the  imitation,  as 
nearly  as  it  could  be  carried,  of  the  nature  or  quality  of  the 
object  which  was  named,  by  the  sound  of  the  name  which 
the  object  or  its  quality  received. 

Illus.  As  a  painter,  who  wotild  represent  grass,  must  employ  a  green 
colour  ;  so  in  the  beginning  of  spoken  language,  the  man  who  gave  a 
iiamc  to  any  thing  harsli  or  boisterous,  wouhl  employ  a  liursh  or  bois- 
tcnuis  sound  in  the  pronunciation  of  that  name,  lie  could  not  du 
otherwise,  if  he  meant  to  excite  in  the  hearer  the  idea  of  that  thing 
•whicli  he  sought  to  name.     (See  Art.  IG,  17,  and  18.) 

Carol.  The  desire  of  men  to  paint,  by  speech,  t!ic  objects  which  they 
fiamed,  in  a  mannerinore  or  less  complete,  according  as  the  vocal 
organs  had  it  in  their  power  to  cftect  this  imitation,  must  have  been 
t))e  general  motive  which  led  men  to  the  assignation  of  one  name  to  a 
nurticular  object  rather  than  another.     (Sec  the  ILluslralions  to  ^irt.  7.) 

G.  Whatever  objects  were  to  be  named,  in  wliich  sound, 
or  noise,  or  motion,  was  concerned,  the  imitation  by  words 
Mas  abundantly  obvious.  Nothing  was  more  natural,  than, 
by  the  sound  of  the  voice,  to  imitate  the  quality  of  the 
sound,  or  noise,  or  motion,  which  the  external  object  made ; 
and  to  form  its  name  accordingly. 

Illus.  Thus,  in  all  languages,  we  find  words  constructed  upon  this 
principle.  A  certain  bird  is  called  the  cuckoo  from  the  sound  which  it 
emits.  Tlic  analogy  between  tlie  word  and  the  thing  signified  is  dis- 
cernable,  when  one  sort  of  wind  is  said  to  whisl/e,  and  another  to  roary 
when  a  serpent  is  said  to  hiss,  a  fly  to  buzz,  and  falling  timber  to  crash, 
— when  a  stream  is  said  iojlow,  thunder  to  roar,  and  hail  to  rattle. 

7.  This  analogy  becomes  more  obscure  in  the  names  of 
objects  which  adtlress  the  sight  only,  where  neither  noise 
nor  motion  is  concerned,  and  still  more  in  the  terms  appro- 
priated to  moral  ideas  ;  but  even  here  it  is  not  altogether 
lost ;  and  throughout  the  radical  words  of  all  languafj;es  some 


m  the  Structure  mid  Composition  of  Words,         21 

^egi^e  of  correspondence  may  be  traced  with  the  object 
signified. 

Illus.  1.  The  terms  significant  of  moral  and  intellectual  ideas,  are 
derived  from  the  names  of  sensible  objects  to  which  they  are  conceiv- 
ed to  be  analogous, 

2.  The  most  distinguishing  qualities  of  sensible  objects,  pertaining 
merely  to  sight,  have,  in  a  great  variety  of  languages,  certain  radical 
sounds  appropriated  to  tli-e  expression  of  those  qualities.  The  organs 
of  voice  assume  but  an  obscure  resemblance  to  such  external  qualities 
as  slahility  and  fluiditi/,  hollowness  and  smoothness,  gtnthness  and  vio- 
■h7ic€j  yet  are  these  words  painted  by  the  sound  of  certain  letters  or 
syllables,  which  have  some  relation  to  those  different  states  of  visible 
objects. 

3.  Words  formed  upon  st,  usually  denote  firmness  and  strength, 
analogous  to  the  Latin  sto  ;  as,  stand,  stay,  staff,  stop,  stout,  steady^ 
Make,  stamp,  stallion,  stattly,  he. 

4.  Str,  in  the  beginningof  words,  intimates  violent  force  and  energy, 
analagous  to  the  Greek  ^^cevwfxt  ;  as,  strive,  strength^  struggle,  stride. 
stress,  stretch,  strike^  stripe,  &c. 

5.  Thr,  implies  forcible  motion  ;  as,  Ihroiv,  thrust,  throb,  iJirough, 
threaten,  thraldom,  &c. 

6.  Wr,  denotes  obliquity  or  distortion  ;  as,  wry,  wrest,  wrestle, 
wreath,  ivring,  wrong,  wrangle,  wrath,  wrack,  he. 

7.  Sw,  indicates  silent  agitation,  or  lateral  motion  ;  as,  sway,  siving^ 
werve,  sweep,  swim,  he. 

8.  SI,  implies  a  gentle  fall,  or  less  observable  motion  ;  as,  slide,  slip, 
sly.,  slit,  slow,  slack,  sling,  he. 

9.  Sp,  intimates  dissipation  or  expansion  ;  as,  spread,  sprout,  sprin- 
kle, split,  spill,  spring,  he. 

10.  Terminations  in  ash  indicate  something  acting  nimbly  and 
sharply  ;  as,  cra^h,  gash,  rash,Jiash,  lash,  slash,  he. 

11.  Ush,  in  the  ending  of  words,  implies  sometiiing  acting  more  ob- 
tusely or  dully  ;  as,  crush,  brush,  hush,  gush,  blush,  hc."^ 

Observation.  These  significant  j^oots  have  been  considered  as  a  pe- 
culiar beauty  or  excellency  of  our  native  tongue,  which,  beyond  all 
others,  expresses  the  nature  or  qualities  of  the  objects  that  it  names, 
by  employing  sounds  sharper,  softer,  weaker,  stronger,  more  obscure, 
or  more  stridulous,  according  as  the  idea  requires  wlilch  is  to  be  sug- 
gested. 

8.  The  immense  field  of  language,  in  every  nation,  is, 
however,  filled  up  by  numerous  fanciful  and  irregular 
methods  of  derivation  and  composition. 

Coral.  Words,  therefore,  come  to  deviate  widely  from  the  primitive 
character  of  their  roots,  and  frequently  lose  all  analogy  or  resemblance 
in  sound  to  tlie  thing  signified.  Taken  generally,  as  we  now  employ 
ibem,  words  may  be  considered  as  symbols,  not  as  imitations  ;  as  arbi- 
rary,  or  instituted,  not  natural  signs  of  ideas. 

*  I'Jie  President  Des  Brosses  has  very  ably  examined  this  subject  in  his  woifky  en- 
'I'lcd  "  Traite  de  Ja  Fonriatiou  Mechanique'des  Langues." 


32  Of  the  Bise  and  Progress  of  Language 


CHAPTER  II. 

OF  THE  RISE  AND  PROGHESS  OF   LANGUAGE   IN  THE  MANNED 
OF   UTTERING  OR  PRONOUNCING  WORDS. 

9.  A  SECOND  character  of  language,  in  its  early  state, 
is  drawn  from  the  manner  in  which  mankind  at  first  pro- 
nounced or  uttered  words. 

Illus.  1.  Interjections  or  passionate  language  being  the  first  ele- 
ments of  speech,  (Carol.  Art.  4.)  men  would  labour  to  communicate 
their  feelings  to  one  another,  by  those  expressive  cries  and  gestures, 
which  they  were  taught  by  nature.     (Jirt.  4.  Illus.) 

2.  Language  in  its  infancy,  picturesque  but  barren,  would  be  inter- 
mixed with  many  exclamations  and  earnest  gestures.  Its  scanty  vo- 
cabulary rendered  these  helps  necessary  for  explaining  the  concep- 
tions of  uncultivated  men. 

3.  Tones,  rough  and  unmusical  at  first,  and  significant  gesticulations 
would  supply  the  temporary  absence  of  the  tew  words  which  mea 
knew  ;  and  by  these  supplemental  methods  they  would  endeavour  to 
make  intelligible  to  others  what  they  themselves  understood,  (Jlrt. 
4.6.  Corol.) 

Carol.  It  may  hence  be  assumed  as  a  principle,  that  pronunciation, 
fn  the  earliest  languages,  though  learnt  from  the  uninterrupted  use  of 
gutteral  sounds,  was  accompanied  with  more  gesticulations  than  are 
used  when  men  become  refined  by  civilization,  arts,  and  sciences. 

10.  What  had  risen  from  necessity  continued  to  be  used 
lor  ornament,  after  language  became  more  extensive  and 
copious.  Wherever  there  was  much  fire  and  vivacity  in 
the  genius  of  nations,  the  imagination  was  gratified  with  a 
great  deal  of  action  ;  and,  as  their  ear  acquired  delicacy 
and  sensibility,  their  language  would  gradually  attain  soft- 
ness and  melody  of  tones  in  conversation,  or  public  dis- 
course. 

Illus.  Upon  this  principle  men  spoke  by  action.  Jeremiah,  in  sight 
of  the  people  of  Israel,  breaks  a  potter's  vessel — throws  a  book  into 
the  Euphrates — puts  on  bonds  and  yokes,  and  carries  out  his  house- 
hold stufl'.  The  Indians  of  North  America,  also,  declare  their  meaning, 
and  explain  themselves  by  belts  and  strings  of  nampuin,  as  much  as 
by  their  discourse,  with  all  its  significant  but  flowery  modes  of  expres- 
sion.    (Illus.. ^rt.  IS.) 

11.  Some  nations  have  found  it  easier  to  express  differ- 
ent ideas,  by  varying  the  tone  with  which  they  pronounced 
the  same  word,  than  to  contrive  words  for  all  their  ideas. 

Illus.  Thus,  the  number  of  original  words  in  the  Chinese  language 
i,s  not  great,  but,  in  speech,  the  sound  of  each  word  is  varied  on  no 
fewer  than  five  different  tones.  The  same  word  may  therefore  signify 
five  different  things  ;  and  be  expressed  by  five  different  characters* 


in  the  Manntr  of  Pronouncing  Words,  23 

\iexice  arises  their  unwieldly  alphabet,  or  lexicon.  This  melody,  or 
varying  the  sound  of  each  word  so  often,  is  a  proof  of  nothing-,  how- 
ever, btit  of  the  iine  ear  of  that  people.     (Coral.  Art.  13.) 

12.  When  the  harsh  and  dissonant  cries  of  speech  have 
become  gradually  polished,  ihey  pass  into  more  smooth  and 
harmonious  sounds  (JirL  10.)  ;  and  hence  is  formed  what 
gntnimarians  call  the  prosody  of  u  language, 

Obs,  Without  attending  to  this  we  shall  be  at  a  loss  to  understand 
several  parts  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  classics,  which  relate  to  public 
speaking,  and  the  theatrical  entertainments  of  the  ancients,  (Illus. 
Art,  13.) 

13.  When  (he  Greek  and  Roman  languages  became  flow- 
ing and  harmonious,  the  pronunciation  of  both  became  melo- 
dious in  a  very  high  degree.  It  does  not,  however,  appear 
that  the  languages  of  any  cultivated  nations  have  ever  been 
regulated  by  any  musical  principles.  As  the  copiousness 
and  accuracy  of  speech  keep  pace  with  civilization  and  im- 
provement, its  melody  corresponds  to  the  refinement  of  the 
public  ear.     (Illus,  Jirt,  11.) 

Illus.  1.  The  declamation  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  orators,  and  the 
pronunciation  of  their  actors  upon  the  stage,  were  not  indeed  subject- 
ed to  a  g^eometrical  scale  of  proportion,  us  the  notes  ofm,usic  are;  but 
'he  melody  of  their  periods  was  artfully  regulated  by  the  superior  re- 
uncmeiVt  of  their  ear. 

2.  The  sounds  of  speech  and  music  are  regulated  by  different  scales, 
both  in  point  of  length  and  elevation.  In  point  of  length,  the  sounds 
of  speech  are  only  two,  the  one  double  the  other  ;  for  all  words  con- 
sist  of  syllables  either  long  or  short,  and  the  long  syllable  is  invariably 
double  the  length  of  the  short  one.  The  sounds  of  music  being  meas- 
ured by  a  geometrical  scale  of  proportion,  may  be  extended  as  far  as 
the  composer  pleases.  In  respect  of  elevation  and  depre-ssion  the 
sounds  of  speech  are  subject  to  no  rule  :  their  distances  are  neither 
equal  nor  great.  The  speaker  may  divide  them  according  to  his  in- 
-clinaiion,  and  the  utmost  compass  of  ordinary  speech  seldom  extends 
beyond  the  distance  of  a  ^qw  notes  in  music.  It  is  not  so  with  the  tones' 
of  music  :  their  distances  are  all  determined  by  rule,  and  the  elevations 
and  depressions,  .though  sometimes  \Qry  considerable,  are  adjusted 
with  the  greatest  nicety  of  geometrical  science. 

3.  Aristotle  considers  the  music  of  tragedy  as  one  of  its  chief  and 
essential  parts  ;  but  he  does  not  assuredly  mean  that  the  Greeks  spoke 
in  recitative,  or  that  part  of  the  word,  or  part  of  the  sentence,  was  ut 
tcred  in  the  ordinary  towes  of  conver.^ation,  while  the  remaining  pari 
was  pronounced  in  tones  of  music.  The  whole  of  an  oration,  or  tra- 
gedy, might  be  accompanied  with  musical  instruments  ;  but  the  lan- 
guage of  passion  is  inconsistent  with  recitative.  The  tones  of  musio 
are  not  the  language  of  passion,  and  the  languaige  of  nature  is  the  same 
in  all  ages  and  countries.     (Jlrt.  10.  Illus.  and  also  Art.  II.) 

4.  Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus,  in  his  book  on  composition,  that 
treats  professedly  on  the  melody  of  language,  is  at  great  pains  to  illus 
trate  bis  sentiments  from  the  compositions  of  Demosthenes,  a«d  t# 

3^^ 


M  Of  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  Language 

point  out  how  artfully  that  great  or.?tor  had  consulted  the  melody  of 
his  periods,  by  inserting  in  his  cadences  many  dactyles,  spondees, 
iambics,  and  other  agreeable  metrical  feet.  The  introduction  of  these 
feet  he  calls — "  writing  rhythmical,"  or  "  melodious  prose." 

5.  It  is  plain  also  from  the  oratory  of  Cicero,  tiiat  the  Romans  did 
not  speak  in  tones  of  music,  or  recitative.  He  informs  us  that  Hume- 
rus or  rhythm  was  not  employed  except  in  the  most  splendid  parts  of 
an  oration  ;  and  that  it  ought  not  to  be  long  continued,  lest  the  artifice 
of  the  orator  should  be  detected,  and  iiis  aim  to  impress  his  hearers 
defeated. 

6.  Dionysius,  however,  proceeds  further  thau  Cicero,  and  contrasts 
the  harmonious  examples  extracted  from  Demosthenes,  with  speci- 
mens adduced  from  the  writings  of  Poly  bins,  ''  the  harshness  of  whose 
periods,"  he  asserts,  *'  is  owing  to  the  neglect  of  rhythm." 

Carol.  1.  Therefore,  the  melody  of  a  languagxj  is  a  proof  of  nothing 
but  of  the  fine  ear  of  the  peojile  who  use  it,  (Illus.  ^irt.  11.)  ;  other 
evidence  is  necessary  to  shew  that  it  was  spoken  in  what  the  Italians 
call  recitativo. 

2.  The  '§w9tcyc  then,  of  the  Greeks,  and  the  ?mmen/f  of  the  Romans, 
*^xprcssed  nothing  that  is  now  either  unintelligible  or  unknown,  an<l 
.ifford  no  evidence  that  tlie  ancients  either  spoke  commonly  in  recita- 
cive,  or  intermixed  notes  of  music  with  the  tones  of  speech. 

3.  And,  hence,  the  modern  languages  of  Europe,  abounding  witli 
kjng  and  short  syllables,  are  susceptible  of  rhyl/tni,  as  well  as  the 
Greek  an<l  Latin  ;  and  the  assemblages  o(  these  long  and  short  sylla- 
bles, in  what  the  ancients  called /ce/,  are  not  confined  tolhe  poetry  of 
cur  native  Isles,  but  are  actually  introduced  by  our  best  prose  writers. 
Vet  no  one  expects  to  hear  the  plays  of  Shakspeare  sung,  and  we  did 
not  hear  Fitt  and  Sheridan  speak  in  recitative. 

14.  vStrong  tones,  and  animated  gestures,  go  always  to- 
sjether  ;  hence,  actioi  is  treated  by  all  the  ancient  critics,  as 
the  chief  qualiiy  in  everj^  public  speaker. 

illus.  1.  We  learn  from  Cicero,  that  it  was  a  contest  between  him 
.<tid  Roscius,  whether  he  could  express  a  sentiment  in  a  greater  variety 
of  phrases,  orP.oscius  in  a  greater  variety  of  intelligible  and  significant 
gestures. 

2.  When  gesture  came  to  engross  the  Roman  stage  wholly,  the  fa- 
vorite entertainment  of  the  public  was  pantomime^  which  was  carried 
on,  as  it  still  is,  entirely  by  unite  gesticulation.  Under  the  reigns  of 
.Augustus  and  Tiberius,  the  people  were  moved  and  wept  at  it,  as  much 
us  at  tragedies. 

Corol.  All  speculations  concerning  the  fixing  of  a  living  language 
are,  therefore,  vain  and  nugatory,  and  when  the  good  taste  of  a  nation 
has  prevailed  universally,  writers  of  established  reputation  become  iti- 
(iatiicritic^ 


in  the  Style  and  Character  of  Speech,  25 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF  THE   PROGRESS  OF    LANGUAGE    IN   THE  STYLE  AND  GHAR 
ACTER  OF  SPEECH, 

15.  FROM  what  has  been  said  in  the  preceding  chapters^ 
it  appears  that  men  at  lirst  uttered  their  words,  and  main- 
tained conversation,  in  a  strong  and  impressive  manner,  en- 
forcing their  imperfectly  conceived  ideas  by  cries  and  ges- 
tures ;  and  there  is  abundant  evidence  to  shew  that  the  lan- 
guage which  they  used  was  little  else  than  a  torrent  of  fig- 
ures and  metaphors,  not  correct  indeed,  but  forcible  and 
picturesque,     (y^rt,  19.  Illus.) 

Corol.  Figures  of  speech  are,  therefore,  not  the  invention  of  orators 
and  rhetoricians  ;  but  the  language  of  mankind,  when  they  had  hardly 
any  words  for  expressing  their  meaning. 

16.  The  want  of  a  distinct  name  for  every  individual  ob- 
ject, obliged  the  first  speakers  to  use  one  name  for  many 
objects,     (^rt,  5.  Illus,  and  Corol.) 

Corol.  They  would,  thence,  express  themselves  by  comparisons, 
metaphors,  allusions,  and  all  those  substituted  forms  of  speech,  which 
render  language  figurative  and  picturesque. 

17.  As  the  names  with  which  they  were  most  conversant, 
were  those  of  the  sensible,  material  objects  around  them, 
names  would  be  given  to  those  objects  long  before  words 
were  invented  for  signifying  the  dispositions  of  the  mind,  or 
any  sort  of  moral  or  intellectual  ideas,     (^^rt,  48.) 

Carol.  Hence,  the  early  language  of  man  being  entirely  made  up  of 
words  descriptive  of  sensible  objects,  it  became,  of  necessity,  extreme- 
ly metaphorical.  Every  desire  or  passion,  every  act  or  feeling  of  mind, 
to  which  no  precise  expression  had  been  appropriated,  would  be  paint- 
ed by  allusion  to  those  sensible  dejects  which  had  most  relation  to  it^ 
and  which,  in  some  manner,  could  render  it  visible  to  others,  (.^rt.  10.) 

18.  In  the  infancy  of  society,  men  are  much  under  the 
dominion  of  imagination  and  passion  ;  and  these  are  the  pa- 
rents of  a  figurative  style,  of  exaggeration  and  hyperbole. 
(.^rt,  19.  Illus,  1.  and  S.) 

Illus.  In  this  period  of  society,  men  live  scattered  and  dispersed- 
They  are  un.icquainted  with  the  course  of  things  ;  they  are  daily  meet- 
ing with  new  and  strange  objects.  Fear  and  surprise,  wonder  and 
astonishment,  are  their  most  frequent  passions.  Their  language  par- 
takes of  this  character  of  their  agitated  and  expanding  minds.  They 
will  be  prone  to  exaggeration  and  hyperbole.  Where  all  is  marvellous, 
the  imagination  will  riot  in  the  luxuriance  of  an  unbounded  picturesque. 
(Art.  10.  Illus.) 


i^  Of  the  Progress  of  Language 

Cofol.  Wherever  strong  exclamations,  tones  and  gestures,  entc'f 
much  into  conversation,  the  imagination  is  always  more  exercised;  a 
f,'reater  efl'ort  of  fancy  and  passion  is  excited.  Consequently,  the  fan- 
cy kept  awake,  and  rendered  more  sprightly  by  this  mode  of  utterance, 
operates  upon  style,  and  enlivens  it  with  the  strongest  colours,  and 
the  most  vehement  expressions  of  untamed  passion.     (Art.  15.  Corol.) 

19.  Undoubted  facts  confitm  these  reasonings.  The 
style  of  all  the  earliest  languages,  among  nations  who  are 
in  the  first  and  rude  periods  of  society,  is  found,  without 
exception,  to  be  full  of  tigures;  and  to  be  hyperbolical  and 
picturesque  in  a  high  degree,     (^^rt,  5.  and  lO.J 

Illus.  1.  The  American  Indian  languages  are  known  to  be  figura- 
tive to  excess.  The  Iroquois  and  illiuois  carry  on  their  treaties  and 
public  transactions  with  bolder  metaphors,  and  greater  pomp  of  style, 
than  we  use  in  our  poetical  productions.'' 

2.  \i\  the  Old  Testamrnt, — the  best  specimen  of  oriental  style, — 
constant  allusions  to  sensible  objects  characterize  the  language  of  the 
various  writers.  Thus,  guilt  is  a  spotted  f^arment  ;  iniquity  is  the  trea- 
sures of  darkness  ;  a  sinlul  life  is  a  crooked  path  ;  misery  drinks  the  cup 
of  astonishment ;  vain  pursuits  are  seen  feeding  on  ashes;  innocence  is 
known  by  its  white  robes :  wisdom  is  a  lighted  candle;  and  royal  dig- 
uity  is  purple  and  a  crowji. 

3.  In  the  poems  of  Ossian,  too,  figures  of  speech  abound;  pictur- 
esque descriptions  are  as  the  **  sons  of  song,"  for  number;  or  as  tluj 
heroes'  "  breasts  of  steel,"  for  strength  of  expression ;  or  as  the 
'•  meteors  of  death,"  for  the  illusions  ihey  create  in  a  reader's  mind; 
and  all  the  violent  expressions  of  passion  uttered  about  ''  the  white- 
l)o>omed  love  of  Cormac;"  or  about  Fingal  '*  of  the  noble  deeds;" 
liiui  wlio  ''  tlew  like  lightning  over  the  heath  ;"  or  "  slowly  moved  as 
a  cloud  of  thunder,  when  the  sultry  plain  of  summer  is  silent,"  whose 
"  sword  is  before  him  terrible  as  the  streaming  meteor  of  night — " 
confirm  the  position,  that  this  sort  of  style  is  common  to  all  nations  in 
certain  periods  of  society  and  language.  A  narration  is  condensed 
into  a  few  striking  circumstances,  which  rouse  and  alarm:  the  ac- 
count of  a  battle  is  as  rapid  as  the  wounds  of  a  warrior,  and  the 
deaths  he  inflicts! 

20.  Magnanimity  and  delicacy  characterize  strongly  the 
poetry  of  rude  nations,  who,  in  the  use  of  metaphors  and 
similes,  make  little  or  no  allusion  to  the  productions  of  the 
arts.     (.^rL  29.  Jllus,) 

Illus.  Magnanimity  and  delicacy  are  nearly,  if  not  necessarily,  con- 
nected with  all  the  strong  and  violent  emotions  of  the  mind  ;  and  these 
are  the  natural  produce  of  an  early,  if  not  of  a  savage  state  of  society. 
Strong  emotions  constitute  the  chief  ingredient  in  magnanimity  ;  and 
it  requires  only  one  addition  to  give  them  the  polish  of  delicacy. 

Corol,  It  is  not  improbable,  that  particular  circumstances  may 
prompt  the  latter  sentiment,  long  before  the  introduction  either  of 
philosophy  or  of  the  arts.  Those  who  are  acquainted  with  human 
nature,  and  the  analogy  which  subsists  among  its  feelings,  will  there 

*  See  Cadwallader  Colden's  "  History  of  the  Five  Indian  Nations.'" 


in  the  Arrangement  of  Words  in  Sentenois.        27 

fore  allow  the  uncommon  magnanimity  and  delicacy  of  Ossian,  "king 
of  songs,"  to  be  no  strong  objections  against  the  antiquity  of  his  pro- 
ductions. 

21.  From  what  has  been  said,  it  plainly  appears  that  the 
style  of  all  languages  must  have  been  originally  poetical ; 
strongly  tinctured  with  that  enthusiasm,  that  descriptive 
metaphorical  expression,  and  that  magnanimity  and  delica- 
cy, which  distinguish  poetry.     (Art,  30.  Illus,) 

Obs,  But  these  points  will  be  further  discussed  when  we  come  to 
treat  "  of  the  nature  and  origin  of  poetry." 

22.  As  language,  in  its  progress,  began  to  grow  more  co- 
pious, it  gradually  lost  that  figurative  style,  which  was  its 
early  character.     (Art,  31.  and  S2,) 

Illus.  Proper  and  familiar  names  for  every  object,  both  sensible 
and  moral,  pushed  out  of  discourse  the  use  of  circumlocutions.  Style 
became  more  precise,  and,  of  course,  more  simple,  in  proportion  as 
society  advanced  in  civilization,  and  reason  subdued  the  imagination 
of  mankind.  The  exercise  of  the  understanding  now  rarely  permit- 
ted that  of  the  fancy  ;  and  frequent  and  extensive  fntercourse  among 
mankind  obliged  them  to  signify  their  meaning  to  each  other  by  clear- 
ness of  style.  In  place  of  poets,  philosophers  became  the  instructors 
of  men  :  and  in  their  reasonings  on  all  different  subjects,  introduced 
that  plainer  and  simpler  style  of  composition,  whichj  at  this  day,  we 
call  Prose. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OF  THE  PROGRESS  OF    LANGUAGE,  AS  RESPECTS    THE  ORDER 
AND   ARRANGEMENT  OF  WORDS  IN  SENTENCES. 

23.  THE  imagination  and  the  understanding  are  the 
powers  of  the  mind  which  chiefly  influence  the  arrange- 
ment of  words  in  sentences.  'J'he  grammatical  order  is 
dictated  by  the  understanding;  the  inverted  order  results 
from  the  prevalence  of  the  imagination.  (See  the  theory  of 
Arrangement,  Art.  24. J 

Jllus.  1.  In  the  grammatical  order  of  words,  it  is  required  that  the 
agent  or  nominative  shall  first  make  its  appearance;  the  agent  is  fol- 
lowed by  the  action  or  the  verb ;  and  the  verb  is  succeeded  by  the 
subject  or  accusative,  termed,  in  English  Jrapimars,  the  objective 
case,  on  which  the  action  is  exerted.  In  this  logical  order,  an  Eng- 
lish writer,  paying  a  compliment  to  a  great  man,  would  say:  "  It  is 
impossible  for  me  to  pass  over  in  silence  such  remarkable  ^lildness, 
such  singular  and  unheard  of  clemency,  and  such  unusual  moderation, 
in  the  exercise  of  supreme  power."  Here  we  have  first  presented  to 
m  the  person  who  speaks,  "  It  is  irnpossib!e  for  me;"  next,  what  that 


28  Of  the  Progress  of  Language 

person  is  to  <1o,  "impossible  for  h'lm  to  pass  over  in  silence;'^  aml^ 
lastly,  the  object  which  moves  him  to  do  so,  ^^the  mildnesSy  clemency ^ 
and  moderation  of  a  man  in  the  exercise  of  supreme  power.'' 

2.  The  inverted  order  is  prompted  by  the  imaj^ination,  a  keen  and 
sprightly  faculty,  which  attaches  itself  strongly  to  its  objects,  and  to 
those  the  most  that  affect  it  most  forcibly.  A  sentence  constructed 
according  to  this  faculty,  presents  the  subject  or  accusative,  first,  the 
agent  or  recipient  next,  and  the  action  or  verb  last.  The  order  of 
the  Latin  language  gratifies  the  rapidity  of  the  imagination  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, Cicero,  from  whom  we  have  translated  the  words  in  the 
former  illustration,  follows  the  natural  order :  "  Tantam  mansuetu- 
dinem,  tam  inusitatem  inauditamque  clementiam,  tantumque  in  sura- 
ma  potestate  rerum  omnium  modum,  tacitus  nuUo  modo  pr?eterire 
possum."*  The  object,  that  which  was  the  exciting  idea  in  tlie  speak- 
t?r's  mind,  is  placed  first,  and  the  sentence  concludes  with  the  speak- 
er and  his  action. 

3.  The  other  parts  of  speech,  consisting  of  adjectives,  ad%'erbs, 
conjunctions,  and  prepositions,  are,  in  both  these  modes  of  arrange- 
ment, intermixed  with  these  capital  parts,  and  are  associated  with 
them  respectively,  according  as  they  are  necessary  to  restrict  or  ex- 
plain them. 

24,  From  these  illustrations,  the  following  simple  and 
natural  theory  results,  relative  to  the  arrangement  of  words 
in  sentences,  unless  their  order  be  disturbed  by  considera- 
tions respecting  melody  and  cadence,  of  which  we  shall 
hereafter  take  notice ; — that  in  all  periods  of  society,  and  in 
all  countries  in  which  men  are  guided  more  by  the  influ- 
ence of  imagination,  than  by  the  cool  dictates  of  reason, 
language  adopts  an  inverted  order  or  arrangement ;  but  that 
inversion  is  diminished  in  proportion  as  imagination  sub- 
sides, and  reason  gains  the  ascendant ;  and  that  among  peo- 
ple addicted  to  research  and  philosophical  investigation,  it  . 
in  a  great  measure  disappears,     (^^rt,  30.  Jllus.) 

Obs.  We  have  seen  that  the  arrangement  in  a  Latin  sentence  is  the 
more  animated  ;  the  English  construction  is  more  clear  and  distinct. 
The  Romans  generally  arranged  their  words  according  to  the  order 
in  which  the  ideas  rose  in  the  imagination  ;  we  marshal  them  accor- 
ding to  the  order  in  which  the  understanding  directs  those  ideas  to  be 
exhibited,  in  succession,  to  the  view  of  another. 

Carol.  Our  arrangement,  therefore,  appears  to  be  the  consequence 
of  greater  refinement  in  the  art  of  speech  ;  as  far  as  clearness  in  com- 
munication is  understood  to  be  the  end  of  speech. 

25.  In  the  early  periods  of  society,  and  even  in  the  early 
part  of  life,  we  observe  the  mind  disposed  to  inversion;  be- 
cause in  these  times  the  imagination  is  more  vivid  and  ac- 
tive, and  the  powers  of  reason  arc  more  languid  and  inef- 
fectual,    (^rt.  30.; 

*  Crat.  pro  Marcelh 


in  the  Jirrangement  of  Words  in  ^Sentences.         29 

Illus.  If  a  person  of  a  warm  imagination,  a  savage  or  a  child,  be- 
lield  an  object,  suppose  any  kind  of  fruit,  as  an  acorn,  which  he  was 
anxious  to  possess,  and  to  obtain  it,  he  were  to  express  himself  in  the 
order  prompted  by  the  immediate  feelings  of  his  mind  ;  the  first  thing 
that  would  excite  his  attention,  and  which,  consequently,  he  would 
first  name,  is  the  acorn  ;  himself,  who  was  to  enjoy  the  fruit,  would 
next  engage  his  attention;  and  the  action — that  which  was  to  gratify 
his  wishes — would  finally  attract  his  consideration.  His  arrangement 
would  therefore  be  that,  which,  in  similar  cases,  is  authorized  by  the 
sprightly  languages  of  Greece  and  Rome,  "  j^dheivov  f^ot  cfc?/'  ^'  Glan- 
dem  mihi  praebe  ;"  not  that  which  the  more  phlegmatic  and  philo- 
sophical tongues  of  modern  Europe  would  require,  and  which  the 
strict  grammatical  order  of  our  own  language  demands — ''  Give  me 
ihe  acorn;"  or  '^^  Give  the  acorn  to  me." 

26.  Though  the  vivacity  of  the  genius  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  might  incline  them  to  prefer  the  poetical  and  in- 
verted arrangement  of  their  words,  they  ou  ed,  to  the  struc- 
ture of  their  languages,  the  possibility  of  indulging  this  dis- 
position. 

Ilhis.  The  numerous  inflections  of  their  declinable  parts  of  speech; 
the  correspondence,  for  example,  between  the  verb  and  its  nominative, 
•so  obviously  pointed  out  by  the  terminations  of  the  former,  as  to  su- 
persede, inmost  cases,  the  necessity,  and  even  the  propriety,  of  using 
the  latter;  the  palpable  relation  between  the  adjective  and  the  sub- 
stantive, indicated  by  the  invariable  agreement  of  the  former  with 
the  latter,  in  gender,  number,  and  case  ;  the  various  cases  of  their 
substantives,  which,  on  many  occasions,  supplied  the  place  of  prepo- 
sitions ; — all  contributed  to  leave  the  Greeks  and  Romans  at  liberty 
to  gratify  their  feelings,  or  to  consult  the  melody  of  their  periods,  by 
the  arrangement  of  their  words  in  sentences,  without  incurring  the 
risk  of  diminishing  the  perspicuity  of  their  comi>ositions. 

27.  The  inflections  of  the  modern  languages  are  few,  and 
preclude  the  arrangement  which  the  tongues  of  antiquity 
found  so  much  to  the  gratification  of  the  imagination  and  of 
the  ear.  And  hence  the  first  rule  of  good  writing  or  speak- 
ing, is,  to  preserve  perspicuity,  which  on  no  account  can  be 
sacrificed  to  any  secondary  consideration. 

Obs.  This  indispensable  law  demands,  that  the  arrangement  of 
modern  languages,  should  proceed  nearly  in  the  grammatical  order  ; 
because  juxta-position  is  almost  the  only  means  by  which  they  can 
intimate  the  mutual  relation  of  the  several  words  in  a  sentence  to  one 
another. 

28.  All  the  cultivated  modern  languages, — the  French, 
the  Italian,  the  Spanish,  the  German,  and  the  English, — are 
extremely  circumscribed  in  point  of  inflection;  but  the 
English  more  than  any  of  the  rest.  There  is  not,  perliaps, 
to  be  found  in  any  age,  a  polished  language  of  greater  sim- 
plicity, the  Hebrew  itself  not  excepted. 


so  Of  the  Progress  of  Language 

Illus.  Wc  have  no  gonders  but  those  of  nature,  the  male  and  tlir 
female;  our  sub:rtantives  have  no  more  rases  than  two;  and  only  a 
few  of  our  pronouns  have  three:  our  adjectives  have  neither  gender, 
nor  number,  nor  case;  and  all  the  inflections  of  our  verbs,  do  not  per- 
haps exceed  half  a  dozen. 

Obs.  In  point  of  precision  and  accuracy,  our  own  language,  in  the 
hands  of  a  writer  of  genius,  appears  to  be  superior  to  the  Latin  and 
«'qual  to  the  Greek.  The  great  end  of  language  is  to  communicate 
thought  with  ease  and  expedition,  for  the  improvement  and  happiness 
of  human  life  ;  and,  considering  the  importance  of  this  commuiirca- 
tion,  the  language  which  is  least  liable  to  equivocation,  is  a  most  val- 
uable acquisition.  For  i»ie  purposes  of  business,  and  the  researches 
of  philosophy,  our  own  language  merits  every  praise;  and  though  in- 
ferior to  the  language  of  Greece  and  Rome,  in  works  addressed  to  the 
imagination  and  the  heart,  it  yields  to  neither  of  them,  nor  to  any 
modern  language,  in  its  qualifications  to  do  justice  to  the  most  sub- 
lime conceptions  on  the  capital  subjects  of  genius. 

29.  The  prevalence  of  imagination  and  passion  in  the 
early  stages  of  society,  accounts  also,  satisfactorily,  for  the 
poetical  inversions  of  style,  which  are  found  in  these  peri- 
ods, and,  of  course,  for  the  priority  of  poetry  to  prose  com- 
positions,    (^rt.  21.  and  22. j 

Illus.  The  attacliment  of  love,  gratitude  to  a  deliverer,  or  to  the 
gods,  with  whom  the  creed  of  infant  society  replenished  the  skies,  ad- 
miration of  the  works  of  nature,  in  the  splendour  of  smnmer,  or  the 
grandeur  of  winter,  in  the  beauties  of  spring,  or  the  abundance  of  au- 
tumn, would  early  prompt  the  sentiments  and  language  of  poetry. 
The  invention  of  versification  would  quickly  follow  the  possession  of 
poetical  ideas  ;  and  its  apparent  ingenuity  would  contribute  to  its 
recommendation.  Though  it  is  a  more  artificial  mode  of  expression 
than  prose,  yet  it  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  it  was  first  introduced  ;  and 
the  history  of  Homer's  compositions,  or  the  Poems  ofOssian,  induce  a 
belief,  that  it  preceded  -  -  t  ^li  ii.j  .///.  23.  Illus.  l.aiidS.  also 
.irl.  33.) 

50.  Though  poetry  is  the  more  artiticial  mode  of  compo- 
sition, it  is  not  periuaps  the  more  difficult.  Composition  in 
prose  could  not  be  well  executed,  till  writing  was  invent- 
ed ;  and  writing  is  a  modern  invention,  in  comparison  of 
speaking.  The  appearance  of  good  prose,  is  therefore  pos- 
terior to  that  of  good  poetry  ;  and  excellence  in  the  former, 
is  among  the  latest  attainments  of  polished  nations.  Good 
poetry  is  perfectly  consistent  with  no  high  degree  of  pre- 
cision of  thought,  or  accuracy  of  expression.  (Art.  20.  Cor,) 

Illus.  The  period  most  favourable  for  poetical  exertions,  is  situated 
between  the  decline  of  the  general  influence  of  the  powers  of  imagina- 
tion on  society,  and  the  general  cultivation  of  the  faculty  of  reason,  by 
science  and  philosophy;  it  is  then  that  the  poet  has  the  best  chance  of 
-possessing  the  greatest  componnd  quality  of  the  powers  of  ima2:ina 


Oftlie  Origin  and  Progress  of  fVriting,  51 

.tion  and  judgment  he  can  ever  attain.     Such,  it  seems,  were  the  ^^- 
iods  which  produced  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Milton.     (Art.  22.  Illus.) 


CONCLUSION. 

31.  From  what  has  been  said  in  the  preceding  chapters, 
a  foundation  has  been  laid  for  many  observations,  both  cu- 
rious and  useful.  It  appears,  that  language  was,  at  first, 
barren  in  words,  but  descriptive  by  the  sound  of  those 
words ;  and  expressive  in  the  manner  of  uttering  them,  by 
the  aid  of  significant  tones  and  gestures.  Style  was  figu* 
rative  and  poetical;  arrangement  was  fanciful  and  lively. 
In  all  the  successive  changes  which  language  has  under- 
gone, as  the  world  advanced,  the  understanding  has  gained 
ground  on  the  fancy  and  imagination.  The  progress  of 
language  in  this  respect,  resembles  the  progress  of  age  in 
man.  The  imagination  is  most  vigorous  and  predominant 
in  youth  ;  with  advancing  years,  the  imagination  cools,  and 
the  understanding  ripens. 

32.  Thus  language,  proceeding  from  sterility  to  copious- 
ness, hath,  at  the  same  time,  proceeded  from  vivacity  to  ac- 
curacy;  from  the  fire  of  poetical  enthusiasm,  to  the  cool- 
ness of  philosophical  precision.  Those  characters  of  early 
language,  descriptive  sound,  vehement  tones  and  gestures, 
figurative  style,  and  inverted  arrangement,  all  hang  togeth- 
er, have  a  mutual  relation  on  each  other;  and  have  all 
gradually  given  place  to  arbitrary  sounds,  calm  pronuncia- 
tion, simple  style,  plain  arrangement.  Language  is  be- 
come, in  modern  times,  more  correct  indeed,  and  accurate; 
but  less  striking  and  animated  :  in  its  ancient  state,  more 
favourable  to  poetry  and  oratory;  in  its  present,  more 
adapted  to  reason  and  philosophy. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OF    THE    ORIGIN    AND    PROGRESS    OF    WRITING* 

o3.  NEXT  to  speech,  writing  is,  beyond  doubt,  the 
most  useful  art  which  men  possess.  It  is  plainly  an  im^ 
provement  upon  spoken  language,  and  therefore  must  have 
been  posterior  to  it  in  order  of  time. 

liius.  At  first,  men  thought  of  nothing  more  than  communicating 
their  thoughts  to  one  another,  when  present,  by  means  of  words,  or 
s<junds,  which  they  uttered.     Afterwards,  they  devised,  by  means  of 

4 


32  Of  the  Progress  of  Writing 

marks  or  Characters,  prescnteil  to  the  eye,  and  which  ue  can  ulHlli•*^ 
this  further  method,  when  absent,  of  mutual  communication  one  with 
another 

34.  Written  characters  are  of  two  sorts :  they  are  either 
signs  for  things ,  or  signs  for  tvords,  Tlie  pictures,  liiero- 
j;lyphics,  and  symbols,  empU)ye(l  by  the  ancient  nations,  are 
^igns  of  thingSy  and  belong  to  the  former  chiss  ;  tlie  alpha- 
betical characters,  now  employed  by  all  Europeans,  are 
signs/or  words,  and  belong  to  the  latter  class. 

Illus.  Pictures  were,  undoubtedly,  the  first  essay  toward  writing^. 
Tmitation  is  natural  to  man  ,  children  copy  or  trace  the  likeness  of 
-onsible  objects,  before  they  can  sig^nify  the  names  of  those  objects 
)y  written  characters.  The  sa%age,  to  intimate  that  his  father  had 
ancjuished  an  enemy,  would  draw  the  figure  of  one  man  stretched 
pon  the  earth,  and  of  another  standing  over  him  with  a  deadly  wcap- 
•>n  in  his  hand.  When  the  iMexicans  sent  intelligence  to  Montezuma, 
heir  prince,  of  the  arrival  of  the  Spaniards  in  the  bay  of  Campeachy, 
i.'iey  scratched  pictures  of  tlie  men,  horses,  and  arlillory,  that  they 
)iad  seen,  and  conveyed  these  to  th  -r  monarch.  The  chieftain  un- 
derstood them,  and  inini»'di;it4lv  di^iiatiln d  :in  embassy  to  meet  the 
-panish  commar.dcr. 

Obs.     Ilislorkul  pi<>'  •  xtremely    in^pcrfecl 

ccords  of  important  transactions.  Thtv  do,  indeed,  delineate  exter- 
nal events;  but  they  cannot  transmit  tlieir  memory  through  a  long; 
succession  of  ages  ;  ami  they  fail  entirely  to  exhibit  such  qualities  as 
are  most  visible  to  the  eye,  or  to  convey,  by  description,  any  idea  of 
the  dispositions  or  words  of  men. 

35.  This  rude  attempt  towards  writing,  was,  in  process 
of  time,  improved  by  the  invention  of  what  are  called  hie- 
rogli/phical  characters.  These  may  be  considered  as  the 
-econd  stage  in  the  art  of  writing,  as  they  represented  in- 
rellectual  conceptions,  or  those  not  suirgested  by  any  exter- 
nal or  visible  objects.  The  analogy  or  rcsembhince  which 
<:uch  svnibols  were  suppo^ed  to  bear  to  the  objects,  was 
'conventional,  but  liable  to  forced  and  ambiguous  allusions. 

Illus.  Thus  an  rye  was  the  hieroglyphical  syr^bol  of  kuon'l€fl;j;e  ;  vs. 
'^irclCy  of  eiernitif.  whicii  has  neither  beginning  nor  end  ;  iu^raiihidt 
was  denominated  by  a  viper;  hnpruilence,  by  n  Jh{ ;  wisdom,  by  an 
ant  ;  victori/,  by  a  hawk  ;  a  dulifnl  c/ii!d,  by  a  stork ;  and  a  wretch — a 
man  nnircrsallij  shunned — by  an  eel,  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  com- 
pany with  other  fishes. 

Carol.  But  these  properties  of  objects  were  merely  imaginary  ;  and 
the  conjunction,  or  compoimding  of  the  characters,  rendered  tiiem 
obscure,  and  expressed  indistinctly  the  connections  and  relations  of 
the  objects  which  they  represented.  IJence.  this  species  of  writing 
could  be  no  other  than  enigmatical,  and  confused  in  the  hi;jhest  de- 
gree ;  and  must  have  been  a  very  imperfect  vehicle  of  knowleilge  of 
any  kind. 

()b<!.  Th*"  '  to  suppose  that  the  priests  ol" 


Of  the  invention  of  an  Jilphabet,  S3 

iJgypt,  amon^  whom  hiero£:lyphical  characters  were  first  foiindj  and 
w\\<i  were  also  the  instructors  of  their  couiitrymen,  introduced  and 
«mploved  them  for  the  purpose  of  conccaling^  their  knowledge  from 
the  vulgar.  The  latter  are  little  troublesome  about  the  acquisition  of 
useful  knowledge  in  any  state  of  society  ;  and  the  former  were  too 
enlightened  not  to  know,  that  one  of  the  principal  pleasures  and  hon- 
ours attending  the  possession  of  knowledge,  is  to  instruct  others. 

36.  As  writing  advanced,  from  pictures  of  visible  objects, 
to  hieroglyphics,  or  symbols  of  things  invisible  ;  from  these 
latter  it  advanced,  among  some  nations,  to  simple  arbitrai^y 
marks,  which  stood  for  objects,  but  without  any  resemblance 
or  analogy  to  the  objects  signified. 

Illus.  1.  Of  this  nature,  was  the  method  of  writing  practised  among 
the  Peruvians.  They  made  use  of  small  cords  of  different  colors  ;  and 
upon  these,  by  means  of  A:7io/s  of  various  sizes,  and  differently  ranged, 
they  contrived  signs  for  giving  information,  and  communicating  their 
thoughts  to  one  another;  but  this  invention  afforded  less  security 
against  frequent  and  gross  mistakes,  than  the  hieroglyphic  archetypes 
of  abstract  ideas.     (Corol.  Art.  85.J 

2.  The  use  of  hieroglyphical  characters  still  exists  in  China,  where 
they  have  been  brought  to  greater  perfection  than  in  any  other  quar- 
ter of  the  globe.  But  every  idea  is  expressed  by  a  separate  character. 
The  characters,  it  is  said,  amount  to  upwards  of  70,000.  An  acquaint- 
ance with  the  means  of  communicating  knowledge,  is,  therefore,  the 
business  of  a  whole  life,  and  must  greatly  retard  the  progress  of  all 
science.     In  short,  science  in  China  is  always  in  a  state  of  infancy. 

3.  Our  arithmetical  figures,  which  we  have  derived  from  the  Ara- 
bians, are  significant  marks,  precisely  of  the  same  nature  with  the 
Chinese  characters.  They  have  no  dependence  on  words  ;  but  each 
figure  denotes  an  object;  denotes  the  number  for  which  it  stands. 
(Illm.  6.) 

4.  The  Japanese,  the  Tonquinese,  and  the  Coraeans,  speak  different 
languages  from  one  another,  and  from  the  inhabitants  of  China,  but 
use,  with  these  last  people,  the  same  written  characters;  a  proof  that 
the  Chinese  characters  are  like  hieroglyphics,  independent  of  lan- 
guage. 

5.  In  like  manner  the  Italians,  French,  Spaniards,  and  English, 
speak  different  languages,  but  the  Arabic  characters  1,  2,  3,  4,  he, 
are,  on  being  presented  to  the  eye,  equally  understood  by  those  four 
nations,  as  signs  of  things,  not  of  words.  Thtis,  4  may  be  four  ships, 
four  men,  four  trees,  four  years;  in  short,  four  things.     (Illus.  'S.) 

37.  A  combination  of  sounds  forms,  in  various  ways,  all 
the  variety  of  words  in  spoken  language.  These  sounds 
are  few,  and  are  continually  recurring  for  repetition  in  dis- 
course. They  would  lead  to  the  invention  of  an  alphabet 
of  syllables.  A  sign,  or  mark,  for  each  of  these  syllables, 
would  form  an  alphabet  of  letters.  The  number  of  these 
marks,  or  characters,  would  be  equal  to  the  number  of  sounds 
or  syllables.  These  sounds  reduced  to  their  simple  ele- 
:?ients  of  a  few  vowels  and  consonants,  indicated  by  a  par- 


34  The  most  J3ncitnt  Methods  of  Writing. 

ticular  sign  to  each,  would  form  what  we  now  call  left^^ 
Some  happy  genius  taught  men  how,  by  the  combinations 
of  these  letters,  to  put  in  writing  all  the  different  words,  or 
associations  of  sound,  which  were  employed  in  speech. 

Obs.  Such  seem  to  have  been  the  introductory  steps  to  the  art  of 
writing;  but  the  darkness  of  remote  antiquity  has  concealed  the  great 
inventor's  name  of  this  sublime  and  refined  discovery,  and  deprived 
him  of  those  honours  which,  were  it  known,  would  stiU  be  paid  to  his 
memory,  by  all  the  lovers  of  knowledge  and  learning. 

38.  The  universal  tradition  among  the  ancients  is,  that 
letters  were  first  imported  into  Greece  by  Cadmus,  the  Phce- 
nician,  at  least  3000  years  ago;  and  from  Greece  dispersed 
over  the  western  part  of  the  world.  The  alphabet  of  Cad- 
mus consisted  only  of  sixteen  letters,  but  it  comprehended 
all  the  original  sounds,  which  are  said  to  be  only  thirteen. 
The  remaining  lette.s  were  afterwards  added,  according  as 
signs  for  proper  sounds  were  said  to  be  wanting. 

Ilhts.  The  Roman  alphabet,  which  obtains  with  us,  and  with  most 
of  the  European  nations,  is,  with  a  few  variations,  evidently  formed 
on  that  of  the  Greeks.  And  all  learned  men  observe,  that  the  Greek 
characters  especially,  according  to  the  manner  in  which  they  are 
tormed  m  the  oldest  inscription?,  have  a  remarkable  conformity  to 
the  Hebrew  or  Samaritan  characters,  which,  it  is  agreed,  are  the  same 
with  the  Pha'nician  for  Alphabet  of  Cadmus. 

39.  The  most  ancient  method  of  writing  seems  to  have 
been  in  lines  running  from  right  to  left.  This  method  is 
still  retained  in  the  Hebrew  language. 

Obs.  The  Greeks  improved  upon  this  method,  and  wrote  in  lines 
alternately  from  the  right  to  the  left,  which  was  called  Boiistrophedon ;. 
or  writing  after  the  manner  in  which  oxen  plough  the  ground.  About 
the  time  of  Solon,  the  Athenian  legislator,  the  custom  is  said  to  have 
been  introduced,  and  which  still  prcvsils,  of  writing  in  lines  from  left 
to  right. 

40.  The  writing  of  antiquity  was  a  species  of  engraving. 
Pillars,  and  tables  of  stone,  were  first  employed  for  this 
purpose,  and  afterwards,  plates  of  the  softer  metals,  such  as 
lead  ;  or  tables  of  wax  and  skins  of  parcliment.  A  polish- 
ed point  of  iron  called  a  stilus  was  used  to  scratch  letters 
on  the  wax ;  but  the  writing  on  parchment  was  performed 
with  pen  and  ink.     (JirU  41.  lllus.  1.  and  2.) 

Obs.  1.  On  the  parchment  were  written  books  and  records,  and 
every  kind  of  composition  which  its  author  w  ished  to  preserve  ;  on 
the  tablets  of  wax  temporary  matters  of  business,  and  epistles  that 
were  not  designed  for  the  inspection  of  a  third  person's  eyes.  The 
writing  on  parchment  was  the  most  expensive,  but  the  most  perma- 
nent ;  that  on  wax,  the  cheapest  and  readiest,  but  the  least  dnrabU 
(fUus.l.Mrt.  41.) 


Comparison  of  spoken  icith  tvrilien  Zanguagc.      35 

.  Our  present  method  of  writing  on  paper,  is  an  invention  of  no 
Jijgher  antiquity  than  the  14th  century  :  and  the  hivention  of  printing 
was  reserved  for  an  obscure  monk  in  the  beginning  of  the  15th.  Thif; 
inventor  might  probably  receive  a  hint  toward  this  invention,  from  the 
Roman  practice  of  carving  letters  en  boards  of  wood,  and  of  employ 
ing  them  to  abridge  the  trouble  of  writing,  by  stamping  names  and 
lnscrij>tions  on  parcliment  and  wax. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
A    COMPARISON 

OF  SPOKEN  WITH  WRITTEN    LANGUAGE  :    OR, 

Of  Words  uttered  in  our  hearing,  ivith  Words  represented 
to  the  eye. 

41.  THE  advantages  of  writing  above  speech  ^are,  that 
Writing  is  both  a  more  extensive,  and  a  more  permanent 
method  of  communicating  our  thoughts  to  mankind. 

Illus.  1.  Mart  exlendvc,  us  it  is  not  confined  within  the  narrow  cir- 
cle of  those  who  hear  our  words;  but,  by  means  of  written  characters, 
we  can  send  our  thoughts  abroad,  and  propagate  them  through  the 
world  ;  we  can  thus  lift  our  voice,  so  as  to  speak  to  those  to  whom, 
in  our  own  country,  we  may  not  have  access,  and  to  men  of  the  most 
disfant  regions  of  the  earth.     (Ohs.  1.  Arf.  40.^ 

2.  More  permanent  also,  as  it  prolongs  the  voice  to  ihe  most  distanJ: 
ages  ;  and  gives  us  the  means  of  recording  our  sentiments  to  futurity, 
aiid  of  perpetuating  the  instructive  memory  of  past  transactions 
{ Ohs.  ^.  Art.  40.) 

8.  It  likewise  affords  this  advantage  to  such  as  read,  above  such  as 
hear,  that  having  the  written  characters  before  their  eyes,  they  can 
urrest  the  sense  of  the  writer  ;  they  can  pause  and  resolve,  and  com- 
})arc  at  their  leisure,  one  passage  with  another;  v/hereas  the  voice  is 
fugitive  in  passing;  you  must  catch  the  words  the  moment  they  are 
uttered,  or  you  lose  them  for  ever. 

42.  But  although  these  be  so  great  advantages  of  writ 
ten  language,  that  speech,  without  writing,  would  have- 
been  very  inadequate  for  the  instruction  of  mankind:  yet 
we  must  not  forget  to  observe,  that  spoken  language  has  a 
great  superiority  over  written  language,  in  point  of  energy 
and  force. 

Illus.  1.  The  voice  of  the  living  speaker  makes  an  impression  on  the 
mind,  much  stronger  than  can  be  made  by  the  perusal  of  any  writitig, 

2.  The  tones  of  the  voice,  the  looks  and  gestures,  which  accompany 
discourse,  and  which  no  writing  can  convey,  render  speech,  when  it  is 
ingeniously  managed,  infinitely  more  clear,  and  more  expressive  than 

4^ 


' ']       Comparison  of  spoken  ivith  luritUn  Language. 

the  most  accurate  writing.  For  tones,  looks,  and  gestures,  are  natu- 
lai  interpreters  of  the  mind.  Tiiey  remove  ambiguities — tiiey  enforce 
expressions — they  operate  on  us  by  means  of  sympathy. 

3.  And  sympatliy  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  instruments  of  per- 
suasion. Our  sympathy  is  always  awakened  more  by  hearing  the 
i)eaker,  than  by  reading  his  works  in  our  closet. 
Corol.  Hence,  though  writhig  may  answer  the  purposes  of  mere  in- 
struction, as  the  symbolical  language  of  Algebra  does  the  mathemat- 
ical science — all  the  great  and  high  efibrts  of  eloquence  must  be  made 
by  means  of  spoken,  not  of  written,  language: — and  thus  have  we 
traced  from  their  origin,  through  diiVerent  stages  of  improvement^ 
language  ainl  stvle  as  the  foundation  <»f  el.onuonce. 


I 


OF  THE  STRUCTURP:  of  LxVNGUAGE;  OR 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  GENERAL 

GRAMMAR. 


I 


CHAPTER   I. 


THE  SEVERAL    PARTS  OF  WHICH  SPEECH  OR  LANGUAGE  IS 
COMPOSED. 

43.  THE  structure  of  language  is  extremely  artificial ; 
and  there  are  few  sciences  in  wliich  a  deeper,  or  more  re- 
fined logic  is  employed,  than  in  grammar. 

Obs.  Without  discussing  the  niceties  of  language  in  the  several  parts 
of  speech  of  which  it  is  composed,  we  shall  now  take  a  popular,  but 
philosophical  view  of  the  chief  principles,  and  component  parts  of 
=;peech,  as  far  as  they  are  necessary  to  illustrate  general  grammar,  and 
to  ascertain  the  maxims  of  correct  taste  and  elegant  composition. 

44.  The  essential  parts  of  speech  are  the  same  in  all  lan- 
guages. There  must  ever  be  some  words  which  denote  the 
names  of  objects,  or  mark  the  subject  of  discourse;  other 
words  which  denote  the  qualities  of  those  objects,  and  ex- 
press wiiat  we  affirm  concerning  them:  and  other  words, 
which  point  out  their  connexions  and  relations. 

Corol.  The  most  simple  and  comprehensive  division  of  the  parts  of 
speech,  is,  therefore,  into  substanllres^  allributes,  and  connectives. 

45.  The  common  division,  or  arrangement  ofall  the  words 
of  our  own  language,  comprises  the 

ARTICLE,  VERB,  PREPOSITION, 

JNOUN,  PARTICIPLE,  IIN'TERJECTION, 

PRONOUN,  ADVERB,  CONJUNCTION. 

Obs.  But  the  following  paragraph  will  instruct  us  to  direct  our  af- 

tention  chiefly  to  the  noun  and  the  verb,  as  a  few  observations  will 

illustrate  those  other  parts  of  speech,  to  which  our  ears  have  been  fa- 
miliarized. 

46.  Every  thing  about  which  our  minds  can  be  employed 
in  thinking,  everything  which  can  be  the  subject  of  "our 
knowledge,  must  relate  to  substances  that  exist,  either  in 
rcaliti^,  or  in  the  imagination  ;  or  to  actions,  operations,  aud 


,8  The  Principles  of  general  GmmmaT. 

mergics,  which  these  substances  produce  on  themselves,  oi 
i)n  one  another. 

Carol  Language  communicates  knowledge  ;  its  divisions  of  words 
therefore,  correspond  with  the  divisions  of  our  knowledge ;  its  chiet 
xisincss  is  consequent! v  reduced  to  two  heads: — 

First,  to  exhibit  names  for  all  the  substances  with  which  wc  are  ac 
luainted,  thai  we  may  be  able  to  distinguish  and  recognize  them, 
vhen  thev  are  mentioned  bv  ourselves.  c»r  others  :   and, 

Secondly,  to  denote  the  actions,  operations,  and  ener!;ies,  which  thesa 
substanccs  generate  upon  themselves,  or  on  one  anotlicr. 

47.  Names  are  expressed  bj  what  grammarians  call 
Nouns  ;  opkrations  are  denoted  by  what  they  call  Verbs; 
the  other  parts  of  speech  explain,  modify,  extend,  restrict, 
connect,  or  disjoin,  the  noun  and  the  verb. 

Corol.  The  two  former  are,  therefore,  the  essential  ingredients,  oi 
The  columns  of  language;  the  latter  are  only  occasional  ingredients, 
or  appendages  of  these  pillars  of  the  fabric.     (,2rl.  44.; 

48.  The  fii-st  process  in  the  communication  of  knowledge 
is  to  contrive  names  for  all  the  substances  about  which  our 
knowledo-e  is  conversant,  and  by  common  consent  to  nn- 
pose  the ''same  n:ii:  '  substances,  f.'?//.  IT. 
and  18.; 

JUus.  As  substantives  are  the  ground  work  of  all  language,  a  lan- 
o-uatre  is  perfect  in  respect  to  them,  when  a  name  has  been  given  td 
overy  material  or  immaterial  substance  about  which  the  people  who 
use  the  language  have  occasion  to  speak  or  write.  As  their  knowl- 
edire  enlarges,  as  they  obtain  more  ideas  of  substances  than  they  have 
names  to  express,  ne'w  names  will  be  imposed  on  these  new  substan- 
ce«  which  will  consequently  tiuow  into  their  vocabulary  as  many  new 
substantives,  as  may  render  their  language  adiMpiato  to  the  purposes 
of  ready  communication.  . 

Coro'l  Hence,  if  every  substance  in  nature  required  a  i)articular 
H'lme  to  distinguish  it  from  all  other  substances  ;  every  mineral,  plant, 
animal,  andeverv  part  of  every  animal,  should  obtain  a  distinct  name, 
which  would  increase  the  substantives  of  a  language  beyond  all  con> 
ptitalion.  But  nature  has  reduced  her  productions  into  classes:  the 
individuals  of  every  class,  resemble  one  another,  in  many  particulars  ; 
Hid  therefore  it  is  that  language  hath  not  assigned  a  name  to  every 
substance  Even  her  different  classes  are  formed  with  some  common 
properties  ;  and  thus,  in  some  particulars,  the  diiVerent  classes  resem- 
ble oue  another.  Thus,  the  generic  word  plant,  expresses  the  com- 
mon qualities  of  all  vegetables;  animal,  the  common  qualities  of  all 
living  creatures. 

49.  These  genera  are  divided  into  what  we  term  spe- 
cies,  and  these  species  are  again  divided  into  inferior  spe- 
cies, or  become  genera  to  other  species. 

Ilhis  Thus  the  word  plant,  is  a  general  term,  which  indicates  trees, 
shrubs,  grasses,  and  all  vegetables  which  spring  from  a  root,  and  bear 


Classification  of  Substantives  into  Genera,  ^o.      S9 

Ranches  and  leaves.  And  under  the  comprehensive  term  animal,  we 
range  men,  horses,  lions,  sheep,  and,  in  short,  all  living  creatures. 
But  trees  are  again  divided  into  oaks,  pines,  palms  ;  and  men  into 
white,  black,  tawny,  &c. 

50.  This  arrangement  abridges  the  nuraber  of  nouns,  and 
gives  names  only  to  classes  of  substances,  compelling  one 
name  to  point  out  a  whole  class. 

lllus.  Thus,  tree  expresses  a  whole  genus  of  plants  ;  each  of  the 
words  oakj  pine,  palm,  denotes  a  whole  species.  But  language  stoops 
not  to  give  a  name  to  every  oak,  and  she  hath  left  it  to  beings  of  a 
sentient  nature,  to  particularize  each  other.     (Corol.  Jirt.  AS.) 

51.  To  characterize  individuals  by  names,  language  de- 
arts  from  its  ordinary  analogy. 

;  ///us.  This  necessity — a  mere  refinement  rn  the  communication  of 
bought — extends  to  countries  and  cities,  to  all  the  individij^als  of  the 
iiman  race,  and  sometimes  to  the  inferior  animals. 
}  For  example  :  Italy,  Rome  j  Greece,  Athens;  Alexander,  Buceph- 
lus,  are  all  individuals ;  and  the  particular  names  which  xve  appro- 
Iriate  to  each  of  them,  prevents  ambiguous  and  disagreeable  circum- 
cutions,  or  descriptions,  to  make  it  known. 

52.  We  deduce,  from  these  observations,  the  meaning  of 
he  grammatical  division  of  nouns  into  common  and  proper. 
The  COMMON  NOUNS  are,  (by  the  illustration  to  Article  50) 

me  names  of  classes  of  individuals.  The  proper  nouns, 
fj  the  Illustration  and  Example  of  Article  51,)  are  all' 
umes  of  individuals. 

53.  The  noun  tree  denotes  any  individual  of  the  whole 
species  in  the  singular  number  f  and,  in  the  plural,  all  the 
individuals  of  the  species.  Alexander,  on  the  contrary,  is 
a  particular  name,  and  is  restricted  to  distinguish  him  alone. 

lllus.  On  this  principle,  are  all  common  nouns  susceptible  of  num- 
er,  singular  or  plural,  as  they  denote  one,  or  more  than  one,  of  a 
becies  ;  and  hence,  also,  it  appears  plain,  why  proper  nouns  do  not 

ake  a.  plural  form,  except  in  some  instances,  when  they  express  more 

Hian  one  individual  of  a  species,  and  of  the  same  name ;  as  "  the 
n^elve  Caesars,"  ''  the  Henries  of  England." 

Corol.  The  only  nouns  of  language  are,  therefore,  common  nouns  ; 
aroper  nouns  being  local  and  occasional,,  appropriated  to  persons  and 

^aces,  make  no  part  of  general  communication.     (Compare  Jiri.  52. 

\d  lllus.  to  Art.  50.  and  51.) 

54.  Number,  which  distinguishes  objects  as  singly  or 
Collectively,  must  have  been  coeval  with  the  very  infancy 

Jaf  language,  because  there  were  few  things  which  men  had 
^wore  frequent  occasion  to  express,  than  the  difference  be- 
tween one  and  many. 

Obs.  The  distinctions  of  number  Are  signified,  in  most  languageSj 


* 


'iO  Of  Gender  and  Number. 

by  some  chang^e  in  the  terminations  of  the  nouns,  and  it  rarely  hat 
pens  that  the  chang^e  is  extended  further  than  to  denote,  whether  one 
individual,  or  all  the  individuals  of  the  species,  be  understood.  The 
Greek  dual  is  not  more  necessary  for  the  purposes  of  communication, 
than  a  triple,  a  quadruple,  a  centuple,  or  any  other  plural  number^ 
where  the  richness  of  a  language  would  furnish  it,  to  denote  a  given 
number  of  individuals  of  the  species. 

55,  Substantives  are  susceptible  of  other  concomitant  cir- 
cumstances, besides  their  capacity  to  denote  difference  of 
number.  These  circumstances  are  the  variations  of  the  ter- 
.ninations,  and  are  called  cases. 

Illus.  1.  This  peculiarity  of  substantives  or  nouns,  is  a  necessary 
i»rovision  for  expressing  the  circumstances  attending  them,  and  has 
been  accomplished  in  two  ways,  either  by  varying  their  terminations 
or  by  preferring  auxiliary  words.  The  ancient  languages  employed 
the  former  of  these  methods;  the  modern  languages  accomplish  the 
-ame  end,  by  \ircfixing  particles  or  prepoiitiojis. 

2.  These  methods  are  perhaps  nearly  equal,  in  respect  of  perspicu- 
ity ;  but  thnt  of  antiquity  is  preferable,  in  point  of  melody.  Particles 
and  prepositions  are  mostly  monosyllables,  and  the  frequency  with 
which  they  must  be  used,  impairs  the  modulation  of  language. 

3.  Tlie  Greek  language  has  five  cases  in  the  singular,  two  in  the 
uual.  and  four  in  the  plural  number. 

4.  The  Latin  tongue  has  sometimes  [,,. 
singular,  and  four  in  the  plural. 

6.  No  cases  appear  in  the  Italian,  the  French,  and  the  Spanish  lan- 
guages ;  and  there  are  not  more  than  two  in  the  English. 

56,  Gender,  another  peculiarity  of  substantive  nouns, 
in  the  grammatical  structure  of  language,  arises  out  of  the 
difference  of  sex,  discernible  only  in  animals.  It  will  there- 
fore admit  of  two  varieties,  the  masculine  and  feminine 
genders,  agreeably  to  the  distinction  of  living  creatures  into 
male  and  female.  All  other  substantive  nouns  ought  to  be- 
long to  what  grammarians  call  tin  i^ender,  which  is 
a  negation  of  the  other  two. 

Jllus.  1.  In  the  structure  of  language,  a  remarkable  singularity  hath 
obtamed  with  respect  to  this  distribution.  In  most  languages,  men 
have  ranked  a  great  number  of  inanimate  objects  under  the  distinc- 
tions of  masculine  and  feminine  This  is  remarkably  the  case  in  the 
Greek  and  Latin  languages,  which  admit  this  capricious  assignation 
of  sex  to  inanimate  objects,  from  no  other  principle  than  the  casual 
structure  of  those  languages,  which  refer  to  a  certain  gender,  words  of 
I  certain  termination  ;  yet  even  termination  does  not  always  govern 
ihis  di.^tribu'.ion  into  masculine  and  feminine,  but  many  nouns  in  those 
languages  are  classed,  where  all  of  them  ought  to  have  been  classed, 
under  the  neuter  gender. 

2.  in  the  French  and  Italian  tongues,  the  neuter  gender  is  wholly 
unknown  ;  and  all  their  names  of  inanimate  objects  are  put  upon  the 
came  footing  with  living  creatiu>'S.  nod  distributed,  withact  ^^y^/.nf.nn 
ti2to  masculine  and  feniiuinc 


CO 

i 


Of  Articles t  Pronouns  and  Adjectives,  41 

S.  in  the  English  language,  there  obtains  a  peculiarity  quite  oppo- 
site. In  the  English,  when  we  use  common  discourse,  all  substantive 
nouns,  that  are  not  names  of  living  creatures,  are  neuter  without  ex- 
ception. He,  she,  it,  are  the  marks  of  the  three  genders  ;  and  we  al- 
ways use  it,  in  speaking  of  any  object  where  there  is  no  sex,  or  where 
the  sex  is  not  known.  In  this  respect,  our  own  languag^e  is  pre-emi- 
nently philosophical  in  the  application  of  its  genders,  or  of  those  words 
which  mark. the  real  distinctions  of  male  and  female.  Yet  the  genius 
fthe  language  permits  us,  whenever  it  will  add  beauty  to  our  tiis- 
course,  to  make  the  names  of  inanimate  objects  masculine  or  feminine 
in  a  metaphorical  sense  ;  and  when  we  do  so.  we  are  understood  to 
uit  the  literal  style,  and  to  use  what  is  termed  a  figure  of  speech.  By 
is  means,  we  have  it  in  our  power  to  vary  our  style  at  pleasure.  By 
iiaking  a  very  slight  alteration,  we  can  personify  any  object  we  choose 
>  introduce  with  dignity  ;  and  by  this  change  of  manner,  we  give 
arning  that  we  are  passing,  from  the  strict  and  logical,  to  the  orna- 
inental,  rhetorical  style. 

4.  Of  this  advantage,  not  only  every  poet,  but  every  good  writer 
and  speaker  in  prose,  avails  himself;  and  it  is  an  advantage  peculiar 
to  our  own  tongue  ;  no  other  language  possesses  it.  Every  word  in 
other  languages  has  one  fixed  gender,  masculine,  feminine,  or  neuter, 
which  cannot  on  any  occasion  be  changed :  stPiro  for  instance,  in 
Greek ;  veriiis  in  Latin  ;  and  la  vertu  in  French  ;  are  uniformly  fem- 
inine. She  must  always  be  the  pronoun  answering  to  the  word,  wheth- 
er you  be  writing  in  poetry  or  in  prose,  whether  you  be  using  the  style 
of  reasoning,  or  that  of  declamation;  wliereas,  in  English,  we  can 
either  express  ourselves  with  the  philosophical  accuracy  of  giving  no 
gender  to  things  inanimate  ;  or,  by  giving  them  gender,  and  trans- 
forming them  Into  persons,  we  adapt  them  to  the  style  of  poetry,  and^, 
when  it  is  proper,  we  enliven  prose, 

5.  On  this  general  principle,  we  give  the  masculine  gender  to  those 
substantive  nouns  used  figmatively,  which  are  conspicuous  for  the  at- 
tributes of  imparting  or  communicating ;  which  are  by  nature  strong 
and  efficacious,  either  to  good  or  evil,  or  which  have  a  claim  to  some 
eminence,  whether  laudable  or  not.  Those  again  we  make  feminine, 
v.'hich  are  conspicuous  for  the  attributes  of  containing  and  of  bring- 
ing forth,  which  have  more  of  the  passive  in  their  nature,  than  of  the 
active  ;  which  are  peculiarly  beautiful  or  amiable  ;  or  which  have 
respect  to  such  excesses,  as  are  rather  feminine  than  masculine. 

57.  Articles  are  little  words  prefixed  to  substantives, 
or  to  other  parts  of  speech,  used  as  substantives,  to  enlarge 
or  circumscribe  their  meaning. 

Illiis.  1.  When  we  survey  any  object  wo  never  saw  before,  or  speak 
about  an  object  with  which  we  are  not  intimately  acquainted,  the  first 
thing  which  we  do  to  distinguisli  or  ascertain  it,  is,  to  refer  to  its  spe- 
cies, or  to  class  it  with  some  other  objects  of  its  species,  of  which  we 
have  some  knowledge.     (Jirt.  49.  Illus.) 

Example.  We  would  say,  a  tree,  a  house,  a  horse,  a  man,  when  we 
wished  to  denote  any  individual  of  these  classes  which  we  had  never 
seen  before,  and  of  which,  from  its  appearance,  we  knew  nothing,  but 
its  species.  These  objects  are  individuals  of  the  species  called  irees^ 
horses,  houses,  or  men  ;  and  must  therefore  possess  the  common  qual- 
ities of  their  respective  species,     (^irt.  50,  Illus.} 


42  Of  Articles,  Pronouns,  and  Mjedivcs. 

2  But,  on  surveying  ...e  same  objects  a  ^-"-l^:^''^^^,^"^- 
ing  our  lormcr  acquaintance  witl,  then,,  -^^^"\°^"  ,e  same  Ian- 
ertics,  «e  would  -« -P-- -'■  rsXef^t^^gth-  to  their  spe- 

:dnrn^:^:rr■^t>.^^;:t.;^7^r^^.^o:^rpH^ 

"S  f  ^•r:;tr:rca.trinaer.nite,  because  it  rerers  .be  ob- 
iect  to  its  species  onlv,  and  denotes  our  conceptions  of  .t  no  further 

iect  lo  which  it  ,s  P^^fi^-^^l<^;^«";^;.";,^^;';;  J  own  particular  char- 
tlenotcs  our  previous  ac<iuaintance  with  it,  or  Us  own  y 

Pronol.n.  are  the  class  of  words  most  nearly  related 


acteristics 


58. 


to  sui3stantive'  nouns;  bcinq;,  as  their  name  imports,  repre- 
sentatives, or  substitutes,  of  nouns. 

///...  /,  thou,  he,  she,  it,  are  pronouns,  and  ^Kv  ^e^^^^^^^^^^^ 
.n  abridged   way    of   nan,in.    the  persons   -  ^^^^^^^J^^^^ 
have    immediate   intercourse  "^    ai.cour*  , 

•'"c::^,.°;^t.;Vr:  .t"ce,  « ..b  .«b.an„vo  noun.,  subject  to  the  satn. 
modifications  of  nuinbcr,  gender,  and  case. 

Ob,.  1.  As  the  pronouns  of  the  first  and  second  P"-',^""  "^.^[^  •"  P^'st 
,ons  win.  are  present  to  each  other  when  tbey  speak,  then  sex  must 
•u  nUr  and  tl  orelore  needs  not  to  be  .narked  by  a  mascubne  or  lem- 
S  .  pro" '.1.  Bu,  as  the  thir.l  person  may  be  '^^^-"^^^^X^  ' 
the  distinction  of  gender  there  bccon.es  necessary  '  -  '  "i  .  to'it 
in  Enslisb,  the  thir.l  person  hath  all  the  three  genders  belonging  to 

''%"t  English,  most  of  our  gra.nn.arians  hold  the  P<;^-»^'/™X' 
tohave  t«S  cases  besides  the  no,„inat.ve  ;  »  Pf  f  ^f^",  /^..f  "X 
and  an  accusative-/,  mine,  me ;  Ihon,  Ihme,  he^c  >/'«.'"'  ;J^» '  ' 
nhosc,  xehom ;  wt,  ours,  ns  ;  ye,  ../ours,  1/oa  ;  thaj,  tUt.rs,  llitm. 

59.  AnjECTivES.  or  tern>s  of  quality  s"^^  'is  gm«^.  ^<«/e. 
black,  while,  are  the  plainest  an.!  «'."'l'le«^  <'  /]' ^^'/^Jj^^ 
of  words  which  are  termed  attributive.     (d,t.  44.  to,ol.  ) 

Obs   1    Tbcv   are   found  in   all  languages;  and,   '»<•'"  '.""-"I'P^s. 

■2.  Between  adjectives  a,.d  pan.c.ples  there  ,s  no  '>'f ''^  '"^^^,X 
that  the  latter,  along  with  their  Pri">-^v  s.gn.hcat.on      e,.o.e  thc^i^d^^^ 
tional  idea  of  li.ne.     Both  serve  to  not.fy  the  q..abw,  or  attribute., 
and  to  define  and  illustrate  the  meaning  ot  5»''*'"'."',"'";.    „„.,„„_,.,i„„ 

3  All  adjectives  which  denote  qualities  susceptible  ol  augn.entation 
or  din^iiuufon,  and  almost  all  the  qualities  which  are  so,  are  suscep.i- 

•"VTho^hth..  degrees  of  augmentation  o,  which  a  quality  is  suscep- 
fibt;  m'  t'  ahnost^nfinite,  vet  the  fr.mers  of  languages  have  been 
content  with  marking  two  stages  only  of  these  degices. 


The  General  Principles  of  Grammar.  43 

5.  By  the  former  is  signified  that  of  two  quantities  compared,  one 
is  greater  than  the  other;  by  the  latter  is  understood,  that  of  any  lar- 
ger number  of  qualities  than  two  compared,  one  is  the  greatest  among 
them. 

6.  The  ancient  languages  express  their  degrees  of  comparison,  chief- 
ly by  adding  terminations  to  the  adjectives  ;  the  modern  languages  in- 
cline more  to  signify  them  by  auxiliary  words. 

60.  The  Verb  is  by  far  the  most  complex  of  the  whole  class 
of  words  which  are  called  attributive.  The  chief  character- 
istic of  the  verb  is  action  or  energy.  The  combination  of 
ideas  which  it  is  thence  employed  to  express,  unavoidably 
renders  it  the  most  intricate  of  all  the  parts  of  speech. 

Carol.  Verbs,  therefore,  from  their  importance  and  necessity  m 
speech,  must  have  been  coeval  with  men's  first  attempts  towards  the 
formation  of  language.     (Art.  54.) 

61.  Of  the  various  circumstances  which  must  be  commu- 
nicated by  the  word  denoting  action,  the  chief  refer  to  time 
and  manner. 

Illus.  In  relating  an  action  it  is  requisite  to  notify  whether  it  is  fin- 
ished, is  finishing,  or  will  be  finished.  And  it  is  no  less  important  to 
communicate  also  the  manner  in  which  the  action  has  been  perform- 
ed, is  performing,  or  will  be  performed.  Whether  the  agent  operated 
with  deliberation,  confidence  and  resolution,  or  with  embarrassment, 
hesitation,  and  suspicion;  whether  he  commanded  the  performance 
of  the  action,  or  signified  only  his  inclination  that  it  should  be  per- 
formed. 

Corol.  Hence  arose  the  necessity  that  the  verb  along  with  the  sig- 
nification of  action,  should  likewise  express  time,  and  that,  with  the 
sio;nification  of  action  and  time,  it  should  also  denote  manner.  Here, 
then,  we  find  the  origin  of  moods  and  tenses. 

62.  As  it  was  necessary  that  the  circumstances  of  time 
and  manner  should  attend  the  signification  of  action;  the 
next  important  step  in  the  formation  of  language,  was,  to  de- 
termine by  what  means  this  combined  communication  should 
be  accomplished. 

Illus.  One  of  two  methods,  it  seems,  must  have  been  adopted;  ei 
ther  to  vary  the  terminations  of  the  verb,  or  to  conjoin  with  it  auxilia- 
ry words,  so  as  to  convey  these  additional  circumstances  The  for- 
mer of  these  methods,  uitli  ..  miKtarc  of  the  'aiter,  in  the  passive  form 
of  their  verbs,  was  employed  by  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  The  lat- 
ter method,  with  a  mixture  of  the  former,  in  the  active  form  of  their 
verbs,  has  been  adopted  by  the  English,  the  French,  and  the  Italians 

63.  The  structure  of  the  verb  was  rendered  still  more 
complicated,  because  it  was  found  requisite  that  along  ^\i\i 
the  signification  of  action,  time,  and  manner,  it  should  also 
denote  person  and  number,  to  adapt  it  for  corresponding 
with  the  persons  and  numbers  of  nouns  and  pronouns  with 
which  it  might  be  connected. 


.^4  The  Structure  of  the  Verb, 

ment  ami  experience  of  ages.  .      ,     ,    ,,        ,•    •  ■         „f 

64  Experience,  doubtless,  proved  that  the  d>v»sion  of 
time  into  present,  past,  and  future,  was  not  sufficient  for  the 
purposes  of  communication. 

ii,       1     TV.n  flpptJn^r  nature  of  present  time  made   any  subdivision 

rc°re,:rra%\cu.enor.,,e.i^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

,v,.3  future,  but  would  not  be  long  so,  because  the  time  of  Us  execution 

"fxllfp'!^  "hen!  is  .he  time  which  the  framers  of  all  language, 
have  beon'^  me  ^anxious  to  subdivide.  Most  of  the  «c..ons  vv^nch 
■ould  be  the  subject  of  discourse  or  writing,  must  have  taken  place  m 
ptt 'time  -and  H  render  the  accounts  "f.*"?-.  more  consp.onous  and 
n.elligible,  it  must  often  have  been  requ.sUe  '", '•.^^^0^  of  oastCe' 
or  St  lies  of  their  execution.  Hence  ilic  various  diM>ion,  oi  past  time, 
am  fedrfferent  tenses  significant  of  them  wi.h  ""-»»"  ■•'"f"';f!,'^ 
even  the  most  imperfect,  abound.  Of  polished  languages,  the  least 
.  omplctc,  in  this  respect,  have  three  diMsions  : 

FiT,L  a  plujHTftcl  /e««,  by  which  ts  signified  that  the  »ction  is  fin 
Hhed,  and  thai  some  time  has  intervened  since  it  was  ^°»  P'^'';^    .    ^ 
S^comlly,  ^perfect,  which  denotes  that  the  action  is  finished,  but  that 
vcrv  little,  or  no  time  has  elapsed  since  its  completion. 

Tl  lly,  an  impcrfecl,  which  signifies  that  the  action  had  been  go- 
in^  on  but  had  not  been  completed.  The  language  of  ancient  Rome 
Dossessed  only  these  tenses  significant  of  past  time.  KocI.i.c 

'^TBut  the  Greek  language,  the  English,  and  the  French,  besides 
Ihese  tenses,  employ  another,  which  the  Greelis  called  an  ^or«(,  ami 
Sdeno  es  onlv\hat  the  action  is  completed,  without  distmgu.sh- 
;,  in  whTdivisio^  of  past  time  the  completion  took  place,  or  whe.h- 
er°he  execution  was  pluperfect,  perfect,  or  ""P"'':^  ;  „,,,  „,.,,,  „^. 
5    In  the  usual  course  of  speaking  and  writing,  this  state  of  an  ac 
,ion  freourntly  occurs  ;  and,Wrefore   a  'ensc  adapted  to  expre.  it 
•    «r  «mcr.ilTr  convenience  and   advantage.     \V  hen  tne  compicin>u  ui 
The  ac  iont  the" lirc'cumstance  of  conse,ueuce  to  ^e  conimnn.ca 
cd    the   proper  tense  to  be   employed   is  the  -^""f,,  ^'^"„„^;^''" '"^ 
'Xe  hath  its  ambiguous  amari.  but  the  '"^"^«  °f  •'^<=  .^°"*"'  ""u'e 
?aables  the  learner'or  tlie  reader  to  discover  whether  it  de-iotes    he 
,orist«/^»",  /«;««;,  1  loved ;  or  the  perfect  past  T.=f  ..«x, ;  at  am. .  f 


have  loved 


The  general  Principles  of  Grammar.  45 

65.  The  use  of  moods  is  to  denote  the  manner  in  which 
an  action  is  performed,  together  with  the  dispositions  and 
leelings  entertained  bj  the  agent  relative  to  its  per  for  m- 
ihce. 

•  Illus.  \,  The  capital  views  of  an  action  relative  to  manner  or  mood, 
jBfer  either  to  its  actual  performance,  or  to  the  power,  inclination,  or 
Ibligation  of  the   agent  to  perform  it  \  or  to  the   authority  or  right 

fthe  agent  to  entreat  or  command  the  performance;  or,  finally,  to 
re  exhibition  of  the  action,  without  any  consideration  of  the  agent, 

•  of  the  sentiments  that  he  may  entertain  concerning  the  perform- 
nce. 

t  2.  These  circumstances  comprehend  every  general  view  of  an  ac- 
pon,  that  human  affairs  can  well  be  supposed  to  suggest.     For, 
•  First,  the  agent  may  either  possess  power,  inclination,  or  obligation, 
i  perform  the  action,  and  actually  perform  it. 
Or,  Secondly,  he  may   possess  power,  inclination,  or  obligation  to 
"perform  the  action,  and  without  being  able  to  put  them  in  execution. 

Or,  Thirdly,  he  may  have  a  right,  or  authority,  to  entreat  or 
command  the  power  or  inclination  of  some  other  agent  to  perform 
the  action. 

Or,  Finally,  the  situation  of  the  action  may  require  only  its  bare  ex- 
fiibition,  without  any  regard  to  the  capacity,  the  duty,  or  the  perform- 
ance of  the  agent. 

Corol.  Hence,  from  these  views,  we  readily  discern  the  origin  of 
the  four  moods  of  verbs  commonly  employed  by  polished  languages. 

1.  The  indicative  denotes  the  actual  performance  of  the  action. 

2.  The  subjunctive  expresses  the  power,  inclination,  or  obligation 
€>f  the  agent  to  perform  the  action,  but  leaves  the  performance  to  be 
decided  by  circumstances  not  yet  come  into  existence ;  on  account  of 
vj'hich  it  is  called  the  conditional  mood. 

3.  The  imperative  exhibits  the  agent  as  entreating  or  commanding 
the  performance  of  the  action. 

4.  The  infinitive  repiaesents  the  action  in  general,  without  connec- 
tion with  any  agent,  or  reference  to  him,  or  any  powers  or  disposi- 
tions depending  upon  him. 

Illus.  1.  I  write  is  an  indicative  assertion,  because  it  denotes  an  ac- 
tion  in  actual  performance. 

2.  /  may  write  is  subjunctive,  because  it  denotes  disposition  or 
capacity  only,  and  communicates  nothing  with  respect  to  perform- 
ance. 

3.  /  have  written  is  indicative,  because  it  denotes  performance  al- 
ready past. 

4.  /  might  have  written  is  subjunctive,  because  it  communicates 
part,  capacity,  inclination,  or  obligation,  but  signifies  nothing  about 
performance. 

5.  Write  thou  is  an  imperative,  because  it  does  not  necessarily  infer 
performance,  and  imports  nothing  more  than  that  the  action  of  writ- 
ing should  be  performed. 

66.  Theory  of  moods.  In  the  present  and  past  tenses, 
therefore,  the  indicative  denotes  performance; — the  sub- 
junctive, intention  or  disposition ; — the  imperative  is  suscep- 
tible of  no  time  but  the  present,  when  it  also  expresses  dis~ 


4G  The  Structure  of  the  Verb. 

position.  But,  in  respect  of  future  time,  even  the  indicia - 
tive  cannot  denote  performance;  and  the  subjunctive  must 
be  destitute  of  this  tense  altogether. 

Illus.  1.  For,  as  «in  action  can  have  no  real  existence,  till  the  time 
of  its  execution  arrive  ;  so  languagn  can  express  nothing  concerning^ 
it,  but  the  present  views  and  dispositions  of  the  agents,  who  may 
foretell  performance,  or  promise  to  perform.  I  shall  write  is  signifi- 
cant only  of  prediction  or  intention,  the  execution  of  which  must  be 
future  ;  and  therefore,  in  the  future  tense,  the  indicative  approaches 
the  nature  of  the  subjunctive  and  imperative,  and  expresses  chiefly 
disposition.  The  main  difference  between  them  seems  to  be  this,  that 
the  future  of  the  indicative,  along  with  the  signification  of  disposition, 
conveys  something  positive  or  affirmative  with  regard  to  execution. 
If  the  two  other  moods  imply  at  all  the  execution  of  the  dispositions 
n  hich  they  denote,  they  hold  it  forth  as  altogether  contingent  or  con- 
ditional. 

2.  All  the  sentiments  which  can  exist,  or  be  expressed,  relative  to 
■  nture  actions,  must  refer  either  to  the  views  of  them  which  the  agent 

on:3erly   entertained,  or   now   indnlges.     Of  the    appearances  which 
hese    actions  will   assume  when  they  come    into  existence,  or  of  the 
•jntiments  which    will   be  entertained  concerning  them,  he  can  know 
iothing;    and,   ther'^fore,   these    appearances    and   sentiments,    can 
cither    be  the   subjects   of  thought   nor  of  language.     Hence,  since 
,iast  and    present    intentions   and   dispositions   are  the   only   circum- 
tances   with  \\hich  w«'  either  mv  ur  can  be  acquainted,   it  is  evident 
hat  a  mood,   limited  to  express   intt-uiiou  and  di»pu>Jtioii,  cannot  ad- 
mit a  future   tense,  becaust-  no  ideas  of  future  intentioll^>  and  disposi- 
tions exist  iu  the  mind  of  man,  which' it  may  commnnicute. 

3.  The  tense  /  shnll  have  loved,  commonly  called  "  the  future  of  the 
the  subjunctive,"'  has  no  participation  with  the  usual  import  of  the 
other    tenses  of  thai  mood  ;  for  it  is  expressive  of  no  sentiment  that 

future  and  conditional  as  to  its  execution,  but  is  equally  positive 
tul  affirmative  with  J  shall  /ore,  tlie  tense  commonly  called  the  fu- 
me of  the  indicative.  Tliey  both  signify  intention  relative  to  future 
iction  ;  ami  the  only  difference  between  them  is,  that,  taking  the  ex- 
cution  of  both  to  refer  to  some  fixed  point  of  time,  the  action  of 
lie  former  iciLl  be  finished,  when  the  action  of  the  latter  will  be  Jin- 
hing. 

G7>  Tins  Tiii.oRY  of  the  moods,  tlien,  gives  to  the  indi- 
cative seven  tcn.^es,  and  to  the  subjunctive  not  more  than 
ibur. 

Jllus.  1.  Tiie  iiidlcalivc  will  cxi»ibit  ri,sr..vT  timf,  denoted  by  the 
tenses  present,  and  perfect  present  ;  as,  /  love,  I  have  loved — <^txia, 
-n<^iKmdL — ar,w,  amavi:  past  time,  by  the  imperfect  ami  pluperfect  ten- 
'('s,  I icas  loving,  I  had  loved — I'^ixicv^l-neixyxuv — amabam,  amaverani : 
rxuRE  TIME,  by  the  tenses  styled  the  future  of  the  indicative,  nnd  the 
future  of  the  subjunctive,  I  shall  love,  [  shall  have  loved — <;)/A>;<ra',  <p7niTo/ut 
— amnbo,  amavero  :  and  the  whole  of  past  time  denoted  by  the  Ao- 
rist,  /  loved — \oi'At)(rcL. 

2.  The  subjunctive  will  exhibit  present  time,  divided  into  present 
and  perfect  present  ;  as,  /  may  love,  I  may  have  loved — (ttxZ,  7ri<piKmrt> 
— aniem,  amaverim  ;  and  past  time  divided   into  perfect   and  plupe- 
fect^  I  could  love,  J  could  have  loved — amarem,  amavissem. 


The  general  Principles  of  Grahimar.  47 

68.  Tenses  and   moods,  in  the  Greek  and   Latin  lan- 
aager-,  are  gei^erallj  discriminated  by  different  inflexions 
"  the  verb;  in  the  modern  languages  they  are  chiefly  de- 
oted  by  auxiliaries. 
f  II his.  1.  The  auxiliaries  of  the  indicative  mood  ixrc,  have,  had,  shall, 

till. 
Have  and  had  mark  time;  the  former  denoting  that  the  action  is 
pished  just  now;  the  latter  that  some  interval  has  elapsed  since  it 
as  completed. 

.  Shall  and  tvill  express  faturit}',  but  with  it  some  affection  or  dispo% 
Sition  of  the  ag-ent.  Tims,  in  the  first  person,  shall  barely  foretells, 
or  predicts  performance  ;  as,  /  shall  walk  ;  "  hereafter  1  am  to  per- 
form the  action  of  talking-."  fVUl  implies  promise  or  engagement ; 
/  ivill  toalk ;  '^  I  am  determined  hereafter  to  walk."  In  ihe  second 
and  third  persons,  these  auxiliaries  exchange  their  additional  signifi- 
t'ations  ;  and  shall  denotes  promise  or  engagement ;  as,  thou  shall 
read  :  will  expresses  futurity  ;  as,  he  ivill  run:  that  is  to  say,  accord- 
ing to  promise  or  engagement,  ^'  thou  shalt  read  ;"  and  '^  he  v-ill  here« 
after  run." 

2.  The  auxiliaries  of  the  i'rksent  of  the  subjunctive  arc  may  and 
ca?i ;  and  of  tiie  perfect,  7night,  could,  ivould,  should. 

May  and  ca?i  denote  capacity  or  ability  ;  as,  /  i7iay  write,  I  can  read. 
Might  and  could,  express  the  perfect  time  of  may  and  can  ;  and  like 
them  are  significant  of  ability  or  capacity  ;  but  the  execution  depends 
on  circumstances  which  have  not  yet  come  into  existence.  Thus,  "  I 
might  sec  him,"  and  '■^  I  could  tell  him,"  express  that  my  capacity  to 
see  and  tell  him  is  complete,  and  1  only  wait  for  an  opportunity  to 
put  it  in  action. 

Would  denotes  inclination,  should  obligation,  but  the  performance 
hangs  upon  some  incident,  or  power,  not  under  the  controul  of  the 
agent ;  as,  ''  1  would  read,  if  I  had  a  book  ;"  "  1  should  walk,  if  1  had 
leave." 

3.  The  auxiliary  to  be,  usually  called  a  substantive  verb,  because  ij; 
is  confined  to  the  signification  of  existence  only,  is  generally  and  nat- 
urally an  auxiliary  of  the  passive  form  of  the  verb.  In  this  case  it  is 
always  attended  with  the  perfect  participle  of  the  same  form  ;  as,  "  / 
nm  ioved," — *'  I  have  betn  loved, "^—^  1  shall  be  loved."  But  added  to 
the  present  participle  of  th6  active  form,  and  supported  by  the  other 
auxiliaries,  there  is  not  a  mood  or  tense  of  the  active  form  of  the  verb, 
which  to  be  may  not  denote  ;  as,  <'  I  am  loving," — ''  1  may  be  loving,  ' 
— "  Be  thou  loving," — "  To  be  loving,"  are  expressions  equivalent  to, 
1  love,  I  may  love,  love  thou,  to  love. 

69.  The  INFINITIVE  mood  requires  no  agent  to  be  pre- 
fixed or  understood  in  the  form  of  a  nominative.  The  in- 
linitive,  thus  disengaged  from  all  connexion  with  person  or 
number,  and  significant  of  action  in  general,  without  consid- 
eration of  any  agent,  approaches  the  nature  of  a  substantive 
noun,  and  in  all  languages  is  frequently  substituted  in  its 
place.  The  infinitive  farther,  used  as  a  substantive,  is  near- 
ly equivalent  to  the  present  participle,  employed  in  the 
same  manner. 


4  8  The  Structure  of  the  Verb. 

Example.  Thus,  to  heatj  is  nothing^  more  than  the  action  of  hearing  , 
mid  every  such  participle,  in  English,  n\ny  be  converted  into  a  sub- 
stantive, by  prefixin«T  one  of  the  articles,  the  usual  characteristics  ol 

ubstantives.  (.Irt.  61.) 
Obs.  I.  The  occasions  on  which  it  is  requisite  to  express  actiotv 
without  reference  to  any  agent,  are  very  numerous,  and  the  ui»e  of 
the  infinitive  is,  of  course,  very  frequent.  Its  relation  to  the  other 
tuoods  is  similar  to  that  of  abstract  substantives  to  the  adjectives  from 
V.  hich  they  are  formed  ;  as,  goodness  from  "  good."  (.Irl.  59.  Obs.  2.) 
But  ^ood  denotes  a  quality  inherent  in  the  particular  substance  to 
vvliieh  it  is  applied  }  and  ^oodntss  expresses  a  quality  common   to  all 

lie  substantives  to  which  it  is  competent  to  apply   the  adjective. 

2.  In  like  manner,  the  finite  moods  exhibit  always  some  action, 
yi  rformed  by  an  agent,  cither  specified  or  understood,  as  the  uomiua- 

ive  to   the  verb.     The  infinitive  denotes  the  action,  without  reference 
o  any    particular  agei«i ;   but  the  action  is  practicable  only  by  the 
.LTcnts  who  may  be  made  nominatives  to  the  finite  moods. 
Thus,  as  f^oodness  denotes  a  quality  common  to  all  objects  that  are 

I'ood ;  so  to  read  denotes  an  action  which  can  be  performed  by  all 

.gents  who  have  learned  letters. 

3.  The  infinitive  al^o,  like  the  participle,  retains  so  much  of  its  verb- 
al quality,  it)  denoting  action,  as  to  be  susceptible  of  time  ;  and  it 
'Uoi»esses  variations  to  express  the  three  great  divisions  of  past,  prcs- 
•  ity  and  future.     It  seldom,  however,  introduces  a  sentence,  but  de- 

i  vnds  most  commonly  on  some  verb  that  precedes  it ;  hence,  the  time 
hich  it  assumes,  is  to  be  reckoned  from  that  of  the  antecedent  verb. 

4.  Taking,  theu,  the  time  of  the  antecedent  verb,  as  a  fixed  point, 
u  computing  the  time  of  the  infinitive,  we  employ  the  present,  tiu". 

j.astj  or  the  future  tense,  according  as  the  action  which  it  denotes  hap- 
pens to  be  the  same,  of  prior,  or  of  posterior  time,  to  that  of  the  ante- 
.  I.  dent  verb  ;  as,  '•  I  am  happy  to  see  him," — •'  I  am  hai)py  to  have 
cen  him," — ••  I  am  happy  to  be  about  to  see  him." 

70.  Of  the  adverb.  The  chief  use  of  the  atlverb,  as  its 
name  imports,  is  to  modify  the  verb.  The  circumstances  of 
viction,  expressed  by  tenses  and  moods,  are  all  of  a  nature 
too  general,  to  be  suflicient  for  the  purposes  of  communica- 
tion. It  is  often  necessary  to  be  much  more  particular  in 
:isccrtairiin<j  both  the  lime  and  die  manner,  but  particularly 
:he  place  of  the  action.  The  important  office  of  the  adverb, 
s  to  accomplish  these  ends. 

Illus.  1.  Though  tenses  display  a  great  degree  of  ingenuiiv  in  their 
>rmation,  they  rarely  descend  farther  than  to  denote  performan«€  in 
r-ast,  present,  or  future  time.  But  we  find  it  necessary  to  be  often 
aiucli  more  minute,  and  to  signify  whether  the  action  vvas  done  yes- 
terday, lately,  long  ago  ;  or  is  to  be  done  now,  immediately,  instant- 
ly ;  or  will  be  done  quickly,  presently,  hereafter  ;  or  will  be  repeated 
oft^n,  seldom,  daily,  once,  twice,  tiirice. 

2.  All  the  circnmstances  communicated  by  moods  are  of  a  very 
general  nature.  The  indicative  expresses  performance  only  ;  the  sub- 
mnctive  and  imperative  denote  bare  intention  or  dispo.sition ;  while^ 
fhe  infinitive  scarcely  descends  farther  than  the  tiamc  of  the  action, 
vvithoi'.t  specifying  its  nature. 


Jidmrbs,  Prepositions ^  and  Conjunctions.  49 

3:  The  very  varied  and  numerous  situations  of  society,  demanded 
the  significatio^»  of  many  circumstances  of  action  much  more  particu- 
lar ;  and  to  express  these,  a  large  class  of  adverbs  was  devised. 

These  adverbs  indicate  quality  and  manner,  either  simply,  as  wisely, 
'prudently^  cautiously;  or  positively ,  as  truly,  certainly,  unquestionably , 
or  conting-ently,  as  perhaps,  pr-^bahly,  possibly  ;  or  uc«:atively,  as  no^ 
not,  erroneously;  or  conjointly,  as  together,  generally,  universally ;  or 
separately,  as  apart,  solely,  solitarily.  Sometimes  they  denote  maj^ni- 
tude,  as  wholly,  altogether,  exceedingly  ;  or  comparison,  as  preferable  ; 
or  passion,  as  angrily,  lovingly,  furiously,  valiantly  ;  or  merit,  as  learn- 
edly, prudently,  industriously. 

4.  The  circumstances  of  action  relative  to  place  are  imparted  by 
another  copious  class  of  adverbs.  The  principal  views  which  they  ex- 
hibit are,  whether  the  action  is  performed  in  a  place,  or  in  moving-  to 
it,  through  it,  or  from  it.  Of  the  first  sort  are  here,  there,  where,  witlc- 
in,  witliout  ;  of  the  second,  hither,  thither,  and  the  compounds  of  the 
syllable  vjard,  as  toward,  forward,  backward,  upward,  downward  ;  of 
the  third,  nowhere,  elsewhere^  everywhere  ;  of  the  iourth,  hence,  ichence, 
I  hence. 

5.  Of  the  adverbs  which  signify  time  and  manner,  two,  one  from 
each  class,  often  attend  on  the  same  vi:rh,  by  an  analogy  similar  to 
the  appearance  of  every  verb,  both  in  a  tense  and  a  mode,  on  the 
same  occasion.  The  adverb  significant  of  time  is  generally  placed 
before  the  verb,  and  after  it  is  placed  the  adverb  significant  of  man- 
ner. That  which  precG<ies  circumscril>es  the  time  expressed  by  the 
tense,  and  that  v/hich  follows  limits  the  manner  expressed  by  the 
mood. 

6.  Adverbs  are  susceptible  of  comparison,  sometimes  regular,  as 
i:oon,  sooner,  soonest ;  but  oftener  irregiilar,  as  readily,  more  readily, 
most  readily.  One  adverb  is  frequently  employed  to  qualify  another, 
as  too  confidently,  very  seldom.  And,  finally,  they  are  often  applied  to 
circumscribe  adjectives,  as  unmercifully  severe,  highly  criminal,  super- 
laiively  excellent. 

71.  Prepositions  are  words  prefixed  to  substantives, 
to  denote  the  various  relations  vvhicli  they  bear  to  one  an- 
other. 

lllus.  In  English  they  are  generally  monosyllabic  words,  chiefly 
employed  to  supply  the  deficiency  of  the  inflections  commonly  called 
cases.  But  in  the  VV^elsh  language  they  undergo  inflection  with  the 
cases  of  nouns.  In  English  they  occasionally  lend  their  aid  to  fur- 
nish compounded  verbs,  us  foretell,  undervalue  ;  and  in  all  case  they 
act  as  proportional  ingredients  of  composition,  by  adding  to  it  the 
full  import  of  their  powers. 

72.  Conjunctions  are  used  to  connect  single  substan- 
tives, clauses  of  sentences,  or  members  of  periods. 

Jllus.  Conjunctions  are  divided  into  various  classes,  copulative,  dis- 
junctive, and  adversitive;  but  tl>eir  most  useful  distinction  relates  to 
the  correspondence  which  they  have  to  one  another  in  different  clau- 
ses or  members  of  a  period  ;  and  in  the  right  management  of  which, 
both  the  perspicuity  and  propriety  of  language  are  not  a  little  con- 
cerned. 

Obs.  We  sometimes  find  pronouns  connecting  sentences  as  well  as 


50  The  Nature  and  Character  of  the 

conjunctions  ;  and  the  latter  not  unfreqaently,  by  a  violent  ellipsb; 
performing^  the  substcintive  office  of  the  former  j  but  ;n  this  case  the 
conjunction  is  usually  connected  with  an  indefinite  relative,  as  "  Lei 
^iich  as  presume,"  for  ''  Let  them  who  presume." 

7i3.  Interjections  indicate  those  impressions  which  so 
suddenly  and  violently  aftect  tiie  mind  of  the  speaker  or 
writer,  as  to  burst  asunder  the  regular  train  of  his 
thoughts  and  expressions,  and  thence  demand  immediate 
utterance, 

Ohs.  This  definition  demonstrates  that  the  proper  use  of  these  words 
must  be  extremely  limited  ;  and  experience  proves  that  the  incidents 
which  excite  such  vehement  agitation  are  not  very  common.     (Art.  4. 

COTOl) 

Illus.  Interjections  are  sparingly  used  even  in  the  glowing  and  ani- 
mated languages  of  antiquity  ;  and  they  appear  less  seMom  with 
^racc,  in  the  more  tame  and  phlegmatic  tongues  of  modern  times. 
1  hey  rarely  occur  with  us  but  when  they  interrupt,  not  language,  but 
silence  ;  and  there  are  few  persons  who  court  those  seasons  of  liigh 
passion  when  their  sentiments  are  too  violent  for  communication  by 
word<,  and  witli  (Vini'Mltv  p.I.mM  nitornr.'V'  nt  ;-.t,M\nl<,  l>v  vi.ri.c  nn(> 
L  roiir.s. 


CHAPTER  IL 

THE    NATURE    AND    CHARACTER    OF    THE    USE    WHICH  GIVES 
LAW    TO    LANGUAGE. 

74.  Eloquence  has  a  particular  connexion  with  language^ 
as  its  intention  is  to  convey  our  sentiments  into  the  minds 
of  others,  in  order  to  produce  upon  them  a  determinate  ef- 
fect ;  and  language  is  the  only  vehicle  by  which  this  con- 
veyance can  be  made. 

CoroL  The  art  of  speaking,  then,  is  not  less  necessary  to  the  orator 
than  the  art  of  thinking.  Without  the  latter  the  former  could  not  have 
existed.  Witliout  the  former,  the  latter  would  be  ineffectual.  And 
the  o"  orations  of  the  latter  go  on  by  means  of  words,  for  there  is  no 
evidence  that  we  think  without  language. 

75,  Language  is  mainly  a  species  o( fashion,^  in  which, 
by  the  general  but  tacit  consent  of  the  people  of  a  particu- 
lar state  or  country,  certain  sounds  come  to  be  appropri- 
ated to  certain  things,  as  their  signs,  and  certain  ways  of 
inflecting  and  combining  those  sounds  come  to  be  estab- 
lished, as  denoting  the  relations  which  subsist  among  the 
rhings  signified.     (Chap,  J,  Book  L  and  Chap,  L  Book  If,) 

lllus.   ^.  The  philosophical  view  which  we  have  taken  of  the  chief 
*  Campbell  Phil,  of  Rhet.  b,  ii.  c.  1, 


Use  which  gives  Law  to  Language.  5t 

pfinciples  and  component  parts  of  speech,  (^rt.  48.  Obs.)  shew  u's 
plainly  it  is  not  the  business  of  grammar  to  give  law  to  the  fashions 
which  re*rulate  our  speech.  From  its  conformity  to  these  it  derives 
its  authority  and  value. 

2.  Grammar,  therefore,  is  nothing  else  than  a  collection  of  general 
observations  methodically  digested,  and  comprising  all  the  modes  pre- 
viously and  independently  established,  by  which  the  significations,  de- 
rivations, and  combinations  of  words  in  that  language,  are  ascertain- 
ed. For,  these  modes  and  fashions  have  no  sooner  obtained  and  be- 
come general,  than  they  are  the  laws  of  the  language,  and  the  gram- 
marian's only  business  is,  to  note,  collect,  and  methodize  them. 

3.  But  this  truth  concerns  alike  those  comprehensive  analogies  and 
rules,  which  affect  whole  classes  of  words,  and  every  mdividual  word, 
in  the  inflecting  or  combining  of  which,  a  particular  mode  hath  pre- 
vailed. 

Corol.  Hence,  every  single  anomaly,  though  departing  from  the  rule 
assigned  to  the  other  words  of  the  same  class,  and  on  that  account 
called  an  exception^  stands  on  the  same  basis,  on  which  the  rules  of 
the  tongue  are  founded,  custom  having  prescribed  for  it  a  separate 
rule.     (Art.  52  and  53.> 

7^,  Use  or  the  custom  of  speaking,  is,  then,  the  sole  ori- 
ginal standard  of  conversation,  as  far  as  respects  the  expres- 
sion ;  and  the  custom  of  writing  is  the  chief  standard  of  style* 
(Art,  86.  lllus.) 

Corol.  In  c\ery  grammatical-  controversy,  we  are,  consequently,  ag 
a  last  resort,  entitled  to  appeal  from  the  laws  and  the  decisions  of  the 
grammarians,  to  the  tribunal  ofuse^  as  to  the  supreme  authority.  (Art. 
79.  Illus.) 

Obs.  1.  The  conduct  of  our  ablest  grammarians  proves  that  this  or- 
der of  subordination  ought  never,  on  any  account,  to  be  reversed. 

2.  But  if  use  be  of  such  consequence  in  this  matter,  before  advanc- 
ing any  farther,  let  us  endeavour  to  ascertain  precisely  what  it  is,  as  it 
would  otherwise  be  erroneous  to  agree  about  the  name,  while  we  differ- 
ed about  the  notion  that  we  assigned  to  it. 

77.  Reputable  use,  sometimes  called  ^£^26rr/Z2<5e,  implies, 
not  only  currency  but  vogue,  and  may  be  defined,  whatever 
modes  of  speech  are  authorised  as  good  by  the  writings  of  a 
great  number,  if  not  the  majority  of  celebrated  authors  :  it 
is  properly  reputable  custom.  (Art.  80.  Illus.  and  86. 
Obs.  9..) 

Illus.  The  good  use  of  language  has  the  approbation  of  those  who 
have  not  themselves  attained  it.  It  is  the  fate  of  those  who,  by  reason 
of  their  poverty  and  other  circumstances,  are  deprived  of  the  advanta- 
ges of  education,  to  hear  words  of  which  they  know  not  the  meanings 
and  consequently  to  produce  and  misapply  them.  An  affectation  ol' 
imitating  their  superiors,  is,  then,  the  great  source  of  those  errors  of 
the  illiterate,  in  respect  of  conversation  and  the  application  of  words, 
which  are  beyond  their  sphere. 

78.  Vulgarisms  are  those  terms  and  phrases  which,  not- 
withstanding a  pretty  uniform  and  extensive  use,  are  con-' 


52  The  Nature  and  Character  of  the 

sidered  as  corrupt,  and  like  counterfeit  money,  though  com- 
mon, not  valued. 

Illus.  Their  use  is  not  reputable,  because  we  associate  with  them 
such  notions  of  meanness  as  suit  those  orders  of  men  among  whom 
chiefly  the  use  is  found.  If  we  use  them  we  do  not  approve  them, 
and  negligence  alone  suffers  them  to  creep  into  our  conversation  or 
writing,  except  when  they  arc  put  into  the  mouths  of  characters  whom 
we  are  describing.  ,  .     •  u 

Corol  Their  currency,  therefore,  is  without  authority  and  without 
weight. 

79.  We  always  take  the  sense  of  the  terms  and  phrases 
belonging  to  any  elegant  or  mechanical  art  from  the  prac- 
tice of  those  who  are  conversant  in  that  art ;  in  like  manner, 
from  the  practice  of  those  who  have  liad  a  liberal  education, 
ind  are,  therefore,  presumed  to  be  best  acquainted  with  men 
md  things,  we  judge  of  the  general  use  of  language. 

nius.  But  in  what  concerns  words  themselves,  their  construction 
and  application,  authors  of  reputation  are,  by  universal  consent  m 
actual  possession  of  that  standard  which  is  authority ;  as  to  this  tribu- 
nal, to  which  all  have  access,  when  any  doubt  arises,  the  appeal  is  al- 
ways made.     (Cor.  Art.  76.)  ..,,..        •  . 

Corol  The  source,  therefore,  of  that  preference  which  distinguishes 
-ood  use  from  bad,  in  language,  is  a  natural  propensity  of  the  human 
mind  to  believe,  that  those  are  the  best  judges  of  the  proner  signs  of 
speech,  and  of  their  proper  application,  who  understand  best  the  things 
which  they  represent.     (Art.  77.  and  Illus.) 

80.  xVuTHous  oi  reputation  have  been  chosen  rather  thau 
ffoof/ authors,  for  two  reasons :  .,    .    .i     .     ., 

First,  because  it  is  more  strictly  conformable  to  the  trutb 
of  the  case.  Though  esteem  and  merit  usually  ^o  together, 
it  is  solely  the  public  esteem,  and  not  their  intrmsic  merit, 
which  raises  authors  to  this  distinction,  and  stamps  a  val- 
ne  on  their  language.  .     ^     .lu       4i 

Secondly,  this  character  is  more  determinate  than  the 
other,  and  therefore  more  extensively  intelligible.  Be- 
tween two  or  more  authors,  as  to  the  preference  in  pmnt  ot 
merit,  different  readers  will  differ  exceedingly,  who  agree 
perfectlv  as  to  the  re^^pective  places  which  they  hold  in  the 
favour  of  the  public.  Persons  may  be  found  ot  a  taste  so 
particular,  as  to  prefer  Parnel  to  Milton,  but  none  will  dis- 
pute the  superiority  of  the  latter  in  point  of  fame. 

Jllm.  By  authors  of  reputation,  we  mean,  not  only  in  regard  to 
Ivnowledge.  but  as  respects  the  talent  of  communicating  that  knowl- 
eXr  There  are  writers  who,  as  concerns  the  first,  have  been  deserv- 
rdlv  valued  by  the  public,  but  who,  on  account  of  a  supposed  deficien- 
cy in  respect  of  the  second,  are  considered  of  no  authority  in  ^"g^^S.^^ 
We  of  course  suppose  that  their  writings  arc  m  the  English  tongue,  m 


IT 

i^Rne  various 


Use  which  gives  Law  to  Language, 


ne  various  kinds  of  composition,    in  prose  and  verse,  serious  and 
ludicrous,  grave  and  familiar. 

81.  National  use  presents  itself  in  a  twofold  view,  as  it 
stands  opposed  to  provincial  ^nd  to  foreign,   (Art,  85.  and 

88.; 

Illus.  Every  province  has  its  peculiarities  of  dialect,  which  affect  not 
merely  the  pronunciation  and  accent,  but  even  the  inflection  and  com- 
bination of  words.  It  is  thus  that  the  idiom  of  one  district,  is  distin- 
guished, both  from  that  of  the  nation,  and  from  that  of  every  other 
province.  The  narrowness  of  the  circle  to  which  the  currency  of  the 
words  and  phrases  of  such  dialects  is  confined,  sufficiently  discrimin- 
ates them  from  that  which,  commanding  a  circulation  incomparably 
wider,  is  properly  styled  the  language  of  the  country. 

Corol.  Hence,  we  derive  one  reason,  why  the  term  use,  on  this  sub- 
ject, is  commonly  accompanied  with  the  epithet  general.  (Art.  19.) 

82.  The  English  language,  properly  so  called,  is  found 
current,  especially  in  the  upper  and  middle  ranks  of  life, 
over  the  whole  British  Empire. 

IlliLS.  Thus,  though  the  people  of  one  province  ridicule  the  idiom  of 
another  province,  they  all  vail  to  the  English  idiom,  and  scruple  not 
to  acknowledge  its  superiority  over  their  own. 

84.  Of  all  the  idioms  subsisting  among  us,  that  to  which 
we  give  the  character  o{  purity,  is  the  most  prevalent,  though 
the  language  be  not  universally  spoken  or  written  with  or- 
thographical and  grammatical  purity. 

Corol.  The  faulty  idioms  do  not  jar  more  with  true  English  than 
they  do  with  one  another,  and  their  diversity,  therefore,  subjects  them 
to  the  denomination  of  impure. 

84.  Professional  dialects,  or  the  cant  which  is  sometimes 
observed  to  prevail  among  those  of  the  same  handicraft,  or 
way  of  life,  must  be  considered,  with  little  variation,  in  the 
same  light  with  provincial  dialects.     (Art,  81.  Illus,) 

Illus.  The  currency  of  the  former  cannot  be  so  exactly  circumscri- 
bed as  that  of  the  latter,  whose  distinction  is  pi  rely  local;  but  their 
use  is  not  on  that  account  either  more  extensive  or  more  reputable. 
Thus  :  advice  J  in  the  commercial  idiom,  means  "  information,"  or 
*'  intelligence  ;"— 7ierrow5,  in  open  defiance  of  analogy,  denotes,  in  the 
medical  sense,  "  having  weak  nerves  ;"— and  the  word  turtle^  though 
pre-occupied  time  immemorial  by  a  species  of  dove,  is  employed  by 
sailors  and  gluttons,  to  signify  '*=  a  tortoise." 

85.  National  use,  as  opposed  to  foreign,  is  too  evident 
to  need  illustration  ;  for  the  introduction  of  extraneous 
words  and  idioms,  from  other  languages  and  foreign  nations, 
cannot  be  a  smaller  transgression  against  the  established 
custom  of  the  English  tongue,  than  the  introduction  of 
'vords  and  idioms  peculiar  to  some  counties  or  shires  of 


54  Present  V^sage  of  the  English  Language. 

England,  or  at  least  somewhere  current  within  the  British 
pale. 

Obs.  The  only  material  difference  between  them  is,  that  the  one  ia 
more  usually  the  error  of  the  learned,  the  other  of  the  unlearned. 
But  if,  in  this  view,  the  former  is  entitled  to  greater  indulgence,  from 
respect  paid  to  learning ;  in  another  light,  it  is  entitled  to  less,  from 
its  being  more  commonly  the  result  of  affectation. 

CoroL  Thus,  two  essential  qualities  of  usage,  in  regard  to  language; 
have  been  settled,  that  it  be  both  reputable  and  national. 

86.  Present  use  is  that  which  falls  within  the  knowledge 
or  remembrance  of  men  now  living,  and  which,  in  fact,  reg- 
ulates our  stjle^     (^irt,  7Q>») 

Illus.  1.  If  present  use  is  to  bo  renounced  for  ancient,  it  will  be  ne- 
cessary to  determine  at  what  precise  period  of  antiquity,  we  are  to 
obtain  our  rules  of  language.  But  one  might  be  inclined  to  remove 
the  standard  to  the  distance  of  a  century  and  a  half,  while  another 
may,  with  as  good  reason,  fix  it  three  centuries  backwards,  and  an- 
other si.x.  Now  as  the  language  of  any  one  of  these  periods,  if 
judged  by  the  use  of  any  other,  would,  no  doubt,  be  found  entirely 
barbarous  ;  either  the  present  use  must  be  the  standard  of  the  present 
language,  or  the  language  does  not  admit  of  any  standard  ;  but  expe- 
rience proves,  that  critics  have  not  the  power  of  reviving  at  pleasure 
old  fashioned  terms,  inflections,  and  combinations,  and  of  making  such 
alterations  on  words,  as  will  bring  them  nearer  to  what  they  suppose 
to  be  the  etymon  ;  and  hence  we  infer,  that  there  is  no  other  dictator 
here  but  use.  Nor  will  it  ever  be  the  arbitrary  rules  of  any  man,  or 
l)ody  of  men  whatever,  that  will  ascertain  the  language  ;  yet  words 
iire  by  no  means  to  be  accounted  the  worse  for  being  old,  if  they  are 
not  obsolete  ;  neither  is  any  word  the  better  for  being  new.  On  the 
contrary,  the  sovereign  dominion  of  custom  over  language,  evinces, 
that  some  time  is  absolutely  necessary  to  constitute  that  custom  or  use, 
on  which  the  establishment  of  words  depends.  Yet  it  is  certain,  that 
when  we  are  in  search  of  precedents  for  any  word  or  idiom,  there  are 
certain  mound^s,  over  which  we  cannot  leap  with  safety.  The  author- 
ity of  Hooker  or  of  Raleigh,  how  great  soever  their  fame  be,  will  not 
now  be  admitted  in  support  of  a  terra  or  expression,  not  to  be  found 
tn  any  good  writer  of  a  later  date. 

2.  But  the  boundary  must  not  be  fixed  at  the  same  date  in  every 
species  of  composition.  Poetry,  which  hath  ever  been  allowed  a 
wider  range  than  prose,  enjoys,  in  this  respect,  a  singular  indulgence, 
to  compensate  for  the  pj^culiar  restraints  which  she  is  laid  under  by 
the  nuasure  And  this  indulgence  is  fraught  with  a  two-fold  advan- 
tage ;  convenience  to  the  poet,  and  gratification  to  the  reader.  Di- 
versity in  the  style  relieves  the  ear,  whicli  hath  little  delight  from 
sameness  of  metre.  But  still  there  are  limits  to  this  diversity.  The 
authority  of  Milton  and  Waller  r«rmains  unquestioned  ;  and  our  best 
poets  of  the  present  day  rarely  venture  to  introduce  words  or  phrases, 
of  which  I.')  example  could  be  produced,  since  the  times  of  Spencer  or 
Shakespeare. 

3.  And  even  in  prose,  the  bounds  ^e  not  the  same  for  every  kind  of 
composition.  In  matters  of  science,  for  example,  the  terms  of  which^ 
from  the  nature  of  the  snbject,  arc  n>>t  capable  of  such  accuracy  as 
those  which  belong  to  ordinary  compositions,  and  are  within  the  reach 


The  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Critimm.  55 

isf  ordin«iry  readers,  there  is  no  necessity  of  confining  an  author  within 
«.  narrow  circle.  But  in  composing  pieces  which  come  under  um.  last 
denomination,  as  history,  romance,  travels,  moral  essays,  fasriiliar 
epistles,  and  the  like,  it  is  safest  for  an  author  to  consider  those  w  ords 
and  idioms  as  obsolete,  which  have  been  disused  by  all  good  writers, 
for  a  longer  period  than  that  to  which  the  age  of  man  extends. 

Obs.  1.  The  expressions,  recent  u^e,  and  modern  use,  have  been  pur- 
posely avoided,  because  they  seem  opposed  to  what  is  ancient ;  and  the 
word  present  has  been  chosen,  because,  in  respect  of  place,  it  is  oppos- 
ed to  absent y  and  in  respect  of  time,  to  past  ov  future,  which  have  now 
no  existence.  When,  therefore,  the  phnxse  present  use  occurs  in  this 
volume,  its  proper  contrary  is — obsolete,  not  ancient. 

2.  Though  we  have  acknowledged  language  to  be  a  species  of  fash" 
ion  ovmode,  as  doubtless  it  is  ;*  yet  being  much  more  permanent  than 
those  things  to  which  the  words  fashionable  and  modish  are  applied, 
the  former  phrases  are  not  meant  to  convey  the  ideas  of  novelty  and 
levity,  but  recur  to  the  standard  already  assigned,  (j^rt.  77.  Ilhis.  and 
80.  illus.)  ;  the  writings  x)f  a  plurality  of  celebrated  authors.  Thus 
have  we  established,  as  general  principles, 

I.  That  use  is  the  sole  rtiistress  of  language. 

If.  That  her  essentird  attributes  are  reprdable,  national,  ztnd  present . 

III.  That  grammar  and  criticism  are  but  her  ministers;  and  though, 
like  other  ministers,  they  would  sometimes  impose  upon  the  peojilo, 
the  dictates  of  their  own  humour  as  the  commands  of  their  sovereign, 
they  are  not  so  often  successful  in  such  attempts,  as  to  encourage  the 
frequent  repetition  of  them. 

IV.  That  what  has  been  said  of  the  English,  applies  to  ev«ry  tongue 
whatever  ;  it  is  founded  in  use  or  custom, 

Wliose  arbitrary  swaj', 
Words  and  the  forms  of  language,  must  obey.i* 

And,  V.  That  it  is  not  by  ancient,  but  by  present  use,  that  the  styl^ 
of  every  language  must  be  regulated. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  NATURE  AND  USE  OF  VERBAL  CRITICISM,  WITH  ITS 
PRINCIPAL  RULES  OR  CANONS,  BY  WHICH,  IN  ALL  OUR  DT2- 
CISIONS,   WE  OUGHT  TO  BE  DIRECTED. 

87.  ALL  the  various  qualities  of  elocution,  have  their 
foundation  in  purity,  and  the  great  standard  of  purity  is 
t6se.     (^rt.  76,  77.  and  8 6. J 

*  «  Pliil.  of  Rhet."  vol.  i.  book  ii.  chap.  1. 

t Usns 

Q^iem  pene»  arUtrium  est  et  jus  et  norma  loqtiendi* 

Hor'  de  40^  Po8t» 

6 


^)G  The  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Criticism. 

06s.  1,  The  essential  properties  of  use,  as  regarding-  langiiagfe,  havr 
been  considered  and  explained  in  the  preceding-  chapter  ;  and  in  thiv- 
\ve  purpose  to  establish  certain  canons  or  rules,  whereby  the  student 
may  be  enabled  to  detect  the  fallacy  of  that  fluent  and  specious,  but 
><uperricial  method,  of  verbal  criticism,  which  passes  current  for  a  de- 
liberate examination,  into  the  principles  on  which  the  structure  and 
genius  of  our  language  are  built.     (Illiis.  1.  ,^rt.  86.) 

2.  Grammar  and  criticism,  though  in  a  ditTerent  sphere,  are  of  simi- 
lar benefit  to  language,  that  a  succinct,  perspicuous,  and  faithful  di- 
ge>t  of  tiie  laws  of  the  Empire  is  to  society,  in  comparison  of  the  lab- 
yrinths of  statutes,  reports,  and  opinions,  which  have  emanated, 
through  a  long  succession  of  ages,  from  legislators,  counsellors  and 
judges.     (III.  p.  bo.) 

3.  The  grammarian  compiles  the  laws,  which  custom  gives  to  lan- 
guage ;  the  critic  seasonably  brings  b_efore  the  public  tribunal  the 
abuses  of  innovation.  The  one  facilitates  the  study  of  our  native 
tongue,  advances  general  use  into  universal,  and  gives  at  least  a  greater 
stability,  if  not  a  permanency,  to  custom,  the  most  mutable  and  ca- 
pricious thing  in  nature  ;  the  other,  stigmatizing  every  unlicensed  term, 
and  improper  idiom,  teaches  us  to  suppress  them,  and  to  give  greater 
precision,  and  ronsetpiently  more  perspicuity  and  beauty  to  our  style. 
(Obs.  1.  and '1.  Art.  7(5. j 

83.  Good  use,  which,  for  brevity's  sake,  shall  hereafter 
iricUule  reputable,  national,  and  present  use,  is  not  alwavs 
Liiiifonn  in  her  decisions. 

lllus.  1.  Whenever  a  considerable  number  of  autJioritics  can  be  pro- 
duced in  support  of  two  different,  though  resembling  modes  of  ex- 
pression, for  the  same  thing,  there  is  always  a  divided  use,  and  he  who 
conforms  to  either  side,  cannot  be  said  to  speak  barbarously,  or  to  op- 
pose the  usage  of  the  language.     (Art.  80.  and  lllus.) 

89.  This  DIVIDED  USE  hath  place  sometimes  in  single 
words,  sometimes  in  constructions,  and  sometimes  in  at- 
angement.  In  all  such  case?,  there  is  scope  for  choice ; 
and  it  belong,  without  question,  to  the  critical  art,  to  lay 
down  the  principles,  by  which,  in  all  doubtful  cases,  our 
choice  should  be  directed.     (Art,  7(S.  Corol.) 

jUus.  1.  There  are,  indeed,  some  differences  in  single  words,  asisle. 
for  "  island,"  innunt,  for  '•  mountain,"  which  ought  still  to  be  retained. 
They  are  a  kind  of  synonomies,  and  afford  a  little  variety,  without  0( 
casioning  any  inconvenience. 

2.  In  our  arrangement  too,  it  certainly  Jiolds,  that  various  mannej 
jkuit  various  styles,  as  various  styles  suit  various  stibjects,  and  varion 
sorts  of  composition.  For  this  reason,  miless  when  sohie  obscurit 
ambiguity,  or  inelegance,  is  created,  no  disposition  of  words  wliich  ha; 
obtained  the  public  approbation,  ought  to  be  altogether  rejected. 

8.  In  construction,  the  case  is  somewhat  different.  Purity,  pcrs; 
culty,  and  elegance,  generally  require,  that  in  this  there  be  the  strict^ 
uniformity.  Vet  differences  here  are  not  only  allowable,  but  ev 
convenient,  when  attended  with  correspttndent  differences  iu  the  a 
idication. 


The  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Criticism,  57 

Carol.  In  those  instances,  therefore,  of  divided  use,  which  give  scope 
fot  option,  the  authorities  on  the  opposite  sides,  in  order  to  assist  us  in 
assigning  the  preference,  ought  to  be  equal,  or  nearly  so.  When  those 
t)n  one  side  greatly  preponderate,  it  is  in  vain  to  oppose  the  prevailing^ 
visage.  Custom,  when  wavering,  may  be  swayed  ;  but  when  reluctant, 
she  will  not  be  forced. 

90.  Canon  the  first.  When  use  is  divided  as  to  any 
paiticukr  word  or  phrase,  and  the  expression  used  by  one 
part  hath  been  pre-occupied,  or  is  in  any  instance  suscepti- 
ble of  a  different  signification,  and  the  expression  employed 
by  the  other  part  never  admits  a  difterent  sense,  both  per- 
spicuity and  variety  require,  that  the  form  of  expression  be 
preferred,  which,  in  every  instance,  is  strictly  univocal. 

Examples.  By  consequence,  meaning  consequently,  is  preferable  to 
'^  of  consequence,"  as  this  expression  is  often  employed  to  denote  that 
which  is  momentous  or  important.  Besides  and  beside,  serve  both  as 
prepositions  and  conjunctions.  Custom  assigns  to  each  a  separate 
province  ;  and  good  writers  humour  her,  by  employing  only  the  former 
as  a  conjunction,  and  the  latter  as  a  preposition. 

Obs.  The  improper  use  of  adverbs  for  adjectives,  and  vice  versa,  of- 
fends against  precision,  and  the  authority  of  present  use.  In  those 
verbs,  also,  which  have  for  the  participle  passive,  both  the  preterite 
form,  and  one  peculiar,  the  peculiar  form  ought  to  have  the  preference. 
For  the  same  reason,  some  are  inclined  to  prefer  that  use  which  makes 
ye,  invariably  the  nominative  plural  of  the  personal  pronoun  tfiou,  and 
you,  the  accusative,  when  applied  to  an  actual  plurality.  When  used 
for  the  singular  number,  custom  hath  determined  that  it  shall  he  you  in 
both  cases. 

91.  Canon  the  second.  In  doubtful  cases,  regard  ought 
to  be  had,  in  our  decisions,  to  the  analogy  of  the  language. 

Examples.  By  this  canon,  contemporary  is  preferable  to  "  cotempo- 
rary  ;"  because  in  words  compounded  with  the  inseparable  preposi- 
tion con,  the  n  is  retained  before  a  consonant,  but  expunged  before  a 
vowel,  or  h  mate  ;  as,  con-comilant,  co-incide,  co-heir.  Co-partner  is, 
probably,  the  only  exception.  But  in  dubious  cases,  we  are  guided  by 
the  rule,  not  by  the  exception.  The  principle  of  analogy  prefers  after- 
wards and  homewards^  to  '•  afterward"  and  "homeward;"  and  would 
God,  is  preferable  to  "  would  to  God,"  though  both  these  last  phrases 
plead  the  autnority  of  custom. 

92.  Canon  the  third.  When  the  terms  or  expressions 
are,  in  other  respects,  equal,  that  ought  to  be  preferred, 
which  is  most  agreeable  to  the  ear. 

Obs.  This  rule  hath  perhaps  a  greater  chance  of  being  observed  than 
any  other,  it  having  !)een,  since  the  days  of  Addison,  the  general  aim 
of  our  public  speakers  and  writers,  to  avoid  harsh  and  unmnsical  pe- 
riods. Nay,  a  regard  to  sound  hath,  in  some  instances,  contronied  the 
public  choice,  to  the  prejudice  of  both  the  former  canons,  vvhicii,  one 
would  think,  ought  to  be  regarded  as  of  more  importance. 

Example.  Thus  the  term  ingenuity  hath  obtained,  in  preference  Co 


58  Tlie  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Criticism, 

*'  ingeniousness,"  thoug-h  the  former  cannot  be  deduced,  analogically^, 
iVoni  ingenious  ;  and  had,  besides,  been  prc-occupied,  and  consequeni- 
\y  would  bo  equivocal,  being  a  regular  derivative  from  the  term  ingtn^ 
lous,  if  the  newer  acceptation  had  not,  before  now,  entirely  sup- 
jplanted  the  otlier. 

93.  Canon  the  tourth.  In  cases  >vherein  none  of  th& 
ibregoing  rules  gives  either  side  a  foundation  of  preference, 
a  regard  to  simplicity,  in  w  hich  we  include  etymology,  when 
manifest,  ou;j;ht  to  determine  our  choice. 

Obs.  Under  the  name  simplicity,  we  coDjprehend  also  brevity;  for 
that  expression  is  always  the  simplest,  which,  with  equal  purity  and 
perspicuity,  is  the  briefest. 

Illus.  We  have  several  active  verbs,  which  are  used  indiscriminately, 
<  Ither  with  or  without  a  preposition  ;  as  accept ,  or  accept  of ;  but  the 
itrnple  form  is  preferable, 

94.  Canon  the  fifth  In  the  few  cases  wherein  neither 
perspicuity  nor  analogy,  neither  sound  nor  simplicity,  as- 
.--ists  us  in  fixing  our  choice,  it  is  safest  to  prefer  that  man- 
ner, which  IS  most  conformable  to  ancient  usage. 

Obs.  This  rule  is  founded  on  a  very  plain  maxim — that  in  language, 
;is  in  several  other  things,  change  itself,  unless  when  it  is  clearly  ad- 
viintageous,  is  ineligible.  On  this  principle,  some  writers  follow  the 
jtuthority  of  Milton,  in  preferring  that  usage,  which  distinguishes  yCj 
as  the  nominative  plural  o{  thou.     (Ol)S.  Canon  First.) 

Quotations  from  Shakespeare,  on  the  side  of  orthography,  are  not 
much  to  bo  miiidcd,  because  his  cilitors  have  shamefully  abused  his 
ancient  orthography. 

95.  Every  thing  favoured  by  good  use,  is  not  on  that  ac- 
count worthy  to  be  retained,  though  no  term,  idiom,  or  ap- 
plication, that  is  totally  unsupported  by  her,  can  be  admit- 
ted to  be  good. 

Obs.  This  position  is  necessary  in  order  to  establish  rules  for  ascer- 
taining both  the  extent  of  the  authority  claimed  by  custom,  and  the 
rightful  prerogatives  of  criticism. 

Jllus.  \.  Though  nothing  can  be  good  in  language  from  which  K^e 
withholds  her  approbation,  there  may  be  many  thinga  to  which  she 
gives  it,  that  are  not  in  all  respects  good,  or  such  as  are  worthy  to  be 
retained  €ind  imitated.  In  some  instances,  cusiotn  may  very  properly 
be  checked  by  criticism. 

2.  The  latter  enjoys  a  sort  of  negative,  though  not  a  ccnsorian  pow- 
er of  instant  degradation.  She  hath  the  privilege  of  remonstrating, 
and,  by  means  of  this,  when  used  discreetly,  of  bringing  what  is  bad 
into  disrepute,  and  so  cancelling  it  gradually  :  but  she  hath  no  positive 
right  to  establish  any  thing. 

3.  Her  power  too  is  like  that  of  eloquence  ;  she  operates  on  us  pure- 
ly by  persuasion,  depending  for  success  on  the  solidity,  or,  at  least, 
the  speciousness  of  her  arguments  ;  whereas  custom  hath  an  unac- 
countable and   irresistible  influence  over  us — an  influence  which  iv 


The  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Criticism*  59 

prior  to  persuasion,  and  independent  of  it,  nay,  sometimes  even  in 
oontradictiou  to  it. 

96.  Of  different  modes  of  expression,  that  which  comes 
to  be  favoured  bj  general  practice,  may  be  denominated 
best,  because  established ;  but  it  cannot  always  be  said  with 
truth,  that  it  is  established,  because  best. 

Illus.  1.  Time  and  chance  have  an  influence  on  all  thing^s  human, 
and  on  nothing  more  remarkably  than  on  language  ;  and  the  best 
forms  of  speech  do  not  always  establish  themselves  by  their  own  supe- 
rior excellence  ;  for  we  often  see,  that  of  various  forms,  those  will  re- 
commend themselves,  and  come  into  general  use,  which,  if  abstractedly 
considered^  ar#»  neither  the  simplest,  nor  the  most  agreeable  to  the  ear, 
nor  the  most  conformable  to  analogy. 

2.  Though  of  any  expression,  which  has  obtained  the  sanction  of 
;ood  use,  we  cannot  properly  say  that  it  is  barbarous,  we  must  admit, 

sat  in  other  respects,  it  may  be  faulty.  To  get  rid  of  those  gross  im- 
iioprieties,   which,  though  unauthorised  by  practice,  ought  to  be  dis- 

iirded,  iiothing  more  is  necessary  than  to  disuse  them.  And  to  brino' 
=js  to  disuse  them,  both  the  example  and  the  arguments  of  the  critic 
have  their  weight. 

3.  The  difference  is  obvious  between  the  bare  omission,  or  rather 
he  not  employing  of  what  is  used,  and  the  introduction  of  what  is  un- 
;iual.     The  former,  provided  what  you  substitute  in  its  stead  be  proper, 

and  have  the  authority  of  custom,  can  never  come  under  the  observa- 
tion, or  at  least  the  reprehension  of  the  reader  ;  whereas  the  latter 
shocks  our  ears  immediately 

Corol.  1.  Here,  therefore,  lies  one  principal  province  of  criticism,  to 
point  out  the  characters  of  those  words  and  idioms  which  deserve  to 
be  disfranchised  and  consigned  to  perpetual  oblivion.  It  is  by  careful- 
ly filing  off  all  roughnesses  and  inequalities,  that  languages,  like  metr 
als,  must  be  polished.  This  indeed  is  an  effect  of  Taste.  But  when 
criticism  hath  called  forth  to  this  object  the  attention  of  a  people  im- 
proving in  arts  and  sciences,  there  is  a  probability  that  the  effect  will 
be  accelerated,  and  that  their  speech  will  not  only  become  richer  and 
more  comprehensive,  but  that  it  will  become  highly  refined,  by  acquir- 
ing greater  precision,  perspicuity,  and  harmony.    (Art.  31.  and  32.J 

2.  It  is,  however,  no  less  certain,  on  the  other  hand,  that  in  the  de- 
clension of  taste  and  science,  language  will  unavoidably  degenerate  ; 
and  though  the  critical  art  may  retard  a  little,  it  w  ill  never  be  able  ul- 
timately to  prevent  this  degeneracy. 

Obs.  As  no  term,  idiom,  or  application  that  is  totally  unsupported 
by  use,  can  be  admitted  to  be  good,  the  following  Canons,  in  relation 
to  those  words  or  expressions,  which  may  be  thought  to  merit  degra- 
dation from  the  rank  which  they  have  hitherto  maintained,  will  enable 
us  to  ascertain  whether  every  term,  idiom,  and  application,  tliat  is 
«:ountenanced  by  use.  is  to  be  esteemed  good,  and  therefore  worthy  to 
be  retained. 

97.  Canon  the  sixth.  All  words  and  phrases  which 
are  remarkably  harsh  and  linhannonious,  and  not  absolutely 
necessary,  may  justly  be  judged  to  merit  degradation. 


W  77ie  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Criticisrit 

Definition.  We  call  a  word  or  phrase  ahsolultly  necessary,  when,  /r* 
ihe  eVeut  of  a  dismission,  we  have  none  synonymous  to  supply  its  place, 
or  in  any  way  to  convey  properly  the  same  idea,  without  the  aid  of 
circumlocution. 

Ohs.  There  are,  however,  criteria,  by  which  we  may  discriminate 
the  objectionable  words  from  all  others. 

98.  Criterion  first  A  term  composed  of  words  already 
compoiuuled,  of  wliich  the  several  parts  are  not  easily,  and 
therefore  not  closely  united,  is  always  heavy  and  drawling, 
and  withal  so  ill  compact*id,  diat  it  has  not  more  vivacity 
tlkin  a  periphrasis,  to  compensate  for  the  defect  of  harmony^ 

Example.  Such  are  the  words  bare-faccd-ness,  sliame-faced-ntssj  un- 
success-ful-nesSf  dis-interest-cd-nets^ivrunL^-keaded-ness. 

99.  Criterion  second.  When  a  word  is  so  formed  and 
accented,  as  to  render  it  of  difficult  utterance  to  the  speaker, 
and  consequently  disagreeable  in  sound  to  the  hearer,  it 
Hiay  be  judged  worthy  of  the  fate  prescribed  by  the  canon, 

JrL  97.) 

llliLS.  This  happens   in   two  cases  ;  first,  when   the  syllables  which 
nmediately  follow  the  accented  syllable,  are  so  crowded  with  conso- 
nants,  as  of  necessity  to   retard   the  pronunciation  ;  as  qae'slionlesSj 
'  mc  mbrancer  ; — secondly^  when   too  many  syllables   follow   the  ac- 
'ot.'d  -vllable,  a  similar  dissonance  is  found;  aSj  pri'marili/f  per'enip- 

iuu.  Criterion  third.  When  a  short  or  unaccented  syl- 
lable is  repeated,  or  followed  by  another  short  or  unaccent- 
ed syllable  very  much  resemblinj^  it,  the  pronunciation  par- 
(•akes  the  appearance  of  stammering. 

Example.  This  happens  when  we  a<ld  the  adverbial  termination  to 
s  )rds  endine^  in  Uj  ;  as  ko'li  ly  ;  or  when  the  participial  termination 
ng.,  is  added  to  a  noun  ending  in  er  ;  iis,farrierin<i;,  so  Idicring. 

Scholium.  Beside  the  cases  which  come  uiuler  the  foreg-oin«^  crite- 
rion, we  know  of  none  that  ong:ht  to  dispose  us  to  the  total  disuse  o4' 
wonls  really  sig^nificant.  A  little  harshness  by  tlie  collision  of  conso- 
nants, which,  nevertheless,  our  organs  find  no  difticulty  in  articulating-, 
,ind  which  do  not  suggest  to  the  hearer  the  disagreeable  idea  either  of 
precipitation  or  of  stammering,  is  by  no  means  a  suflicient  reason  for 
die  suppression  of  an  useful  term.  It  does  not  do  well  to  introduce 
tiard  and  strong  sounds  too  frequently  ;  but  when  they  are  used  spar- 
iigly  and  properly,  they  have  even  a  good  efiect.  Variety  of  sound  is 
-advantageous  to  a  language  ;  and  it  is  convenient  that  we  should  have 
some  sounds  that  are  rough  and  masculine,  as  well  as  some  that  are 
liquid  and  feminine.* 

•  Those  lanfrua^s  which  are  allowed  to  be  the  most  susceptible  of  an  the  gjaces 
ttf  harmony,  have  admitted  many  ill  souiidinic:  words:  such  are  in  Greek  T/TAa^^i^- 
vt^^  3"5t/,  utt/iunmrj)' ;  such  are  also  in  Latin  spLssisshnus, ptrcrel/resccbantgve :  aiid 
in  Italian,  incrwicchkury  sprr^iatrire.    The  first  Greek  i*onl  his«es  worse  tttSn  any 


The  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Criticism.  61 

101.  Canon  the  seventh.  When  etymology  plainjy 
points  to  a  signification  different  from  that  which  the  word 
commonly  bears,  propriety  and  simplicity  both  require  the 
dismission  of  every  such  word, 

lUus.  The  word  plainly  is  used  in  this  canon,  because  no  regard 
v«!hould  be  had  to  the  etymology,  when  it  is  from  an  ancient  or  foreign 
languaj^e,  or  from  obsolete  roots  in  our  own  language,  or  when  it  is 
obscure  or  doubtful.  The  case  is  difTerent,  when  the  roots  either  arc, 
or  strongly  appear  to  be,  English,  and,  in  present  use,  clearly  suggest 
another  meaning. 

Example  1.  Behelden  implies  ''  obliged,"  or  ^'  indebted."  As  the 
passive  participle  of  the  verb  to  behold,  which  it  is  analogically,  it 
conveys  a  sense  totally  different.  Not  that  we  consider  the  term  as 
equivocal ;  for  in  the  last  acceptation,  it  hath  long  since  been  disused^ 
having  been  supplanted  by  beheld. 

Corol.  Every  word,  therefore,  whose  formation  is  as  analogical  us 
this,  has,  at  least,  the  appearance  of  impropriety,  when  used  in  a  sense 
that  seems  naturally  foreign  to  its  radical  signification. 

Example  2,  The  verb  to  unloose  should  analogically  signify  *'  to  tie," 
in  like  manner  as  to  untie  signifies  "  to  loese." 

Corol.  All  considerations  of  analogy,  propriety  and  perspicuity, 
unite  in  persuading  us  to  repudiate  the  preposterous  application  of 
every  term  which  includes  the  impropriety  of  conveying  a  sense,  the 
reverse  of  that  which  its  etymology  naturally  suggests, 

102.  Canon  the  eighth.  When  any  words  become 
obsolete,  or  at  least  are  never  used,  except  as  constituting 
parts  of  particular  phrases,  it  is  better  to  dispense  with  their 
service  entirely,  and  give  up  the  phrases. 

Illus.  First,  because  the  disuse,  in  ordinary  cases,  renders  the  term 
somewhat  indefinite,  and  occasions  a  degree  of  obscurity  ;  secondly, 
because  the  introduction  of  words,  which  never  appear  but  with  the 
same  attendants,  gives  an  air  of  vulgarity  and  cant,  to  a  style  which 
might  otherwise  be  wholly  unexceptionable. 

Example,  Dint  of  argument,  for  "  strength  of  argument  ;" — not  a 
ichit  better,  for  "  no  better  ;" — pro  and  con,  for  "  on  both  sides  ;" — 
with  many  similar  phrases,  will  never  be  used  by  those  who  observe 
the  eighth  canon. 

103.  Canon  the  ninth.  All  those  phrases  which,  when 
analysed  grammatically,  include  a  solecism,  (Art,  1 11. J  and 
all  those  to  which  use  hath  affixed  a  particular  sense,  but 
which,  when  explained  by  the  general  and  established  rules 

English  word  ;  the  last  presents  a  dissonant  recurrence  of  the  same  letter,  to  a  de- 
gree unexampled  with  us,  though  the  mixtui-e  of  long  and  short  syllables  prevents 
that  difficulty  of  uttemnce,  pointed  out  in  the  example  of  Criterion  third.  Ihe  first 
Latin  word  hisses  in  pronunciation  like  an  adder  roused  from  its  slumbers  ;  the  second 
is  as  rough  as  any  of  those  in  the  example  of  Criterion  Jirst.  And  the  two  Italian 
words,  from  the  most  musical  of  all  languages,  sound  harsh  and  jaiTing  even  to  Us  > 
V  ho  are  accustomed  to  a  dialect  boisterous  like  our  weatbw. 


62  The  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Criticisra. 

of  language,  are  susceptible  either  of  a  different  sense,  or  oi 
no  sense,  ought  to  be  discardevl  altogether. 

Illus.  We  shall  distinguish  this  phraseology  by  the  epithet  idiomatic 
cal ;  and  since  it  is  the  offsprings  partly  of  ignorance,  and  partly  ot' 
affectation,  it  divi<les  itself  into  several  examples. 

First,  that  which  includes  a  solecism,  is  the  phrase,  **  I  had  rather 
do  such  a  thing,"  for,  *•  I  uould  rather  do  it."  This  expression  is  ir- 
regular, because  the  auxiliary  /m</ joined  to  the  infinitive  active  rfo,  is 
a  gross  violation  of  the  rules  of  conjugation  ;  and  it  is  unnecessary, 
because  we  can  supply  its  place  by  a  phrase  purely  English.  Good 
use  cannot  therefore  protect  it  from  being  branded  with  the  name  of 
a  blunder. 

Secondly.  Phrases,  which,  when  explained  grammatically,  lead  to  a 
different  sense  from  what  the  words  in  conjugation  commonly  bear ; 
as,  *'  he  sings  a  good  song,"  for  "  he  sings  »rcll."  A  good  song  may 
be  ill  sung,  and  therefore  the  plain  mea»««<g  of  the  words,  as  they  stand 
connected,  is  very  different.  So  aKso,  <'  he  plays  a  good  fiddle,"  for 
•  he  plays  well  on  the  fiddle,"  involves  a  solecism. 

.3  fourlh  improp^iefy  is,  a  rher's  emptyins;  itself.     But  to  empty,   is 

to  exhaust,"  or  "  to  evacuate."  Now  passing  the  word  river,  as  a 
jnetonvniy  for  channel,  is  this  ever  *'  evacuated  or  exhausted  .-*"  when 
it  is,  it  ceases  to  be  a  channel,  and  becomes  a  hollow  or  valley.  A  riv- 
er /nils  into  the  sea,  and  a  ship  ''  falls  down  the  river,"  as  the  motion 
is  no  other  than  a  fall  down  a  real,  though  gentle,  declivity. 

The  fifth  sort  are  those  vile  but  common  phrases,  which  can  scarcely 
l>e  considered  as  conveying  any  sense  ;  as,  currying  favour,  dancing 
altcnduMce. 

Sixth.  The  idiomatical  use  that  is  sometimes  made  of  certain  verbs, 
renders  their  application  reprehensible  ;  as,  "  he  stands  upon  secu- 
rity," for  ^*  he  insists  ;" — and  take  for  '•  understand  ;"  as,  "you  take 
me,"  and  "  I  take  it  ;" — and  hold  for  "  continue  ;"  as  "  he  does  not 
hold  long  in  one  mind." 

SevtJith.  The  worst  are  those,  in  which  the  words,  when  construed, 
are  not  susceptible  of  any  meaning  ;  as,  '*  there  were  seven  ladies  in 
the  company,  evrry  one  prettier  than  another  ;"  which  means,  that 
they  were  all  very  pretty.  But  one  prettier,  implies  that  there  is  an- 
other less  pretty  IS'ow  where  every  one  is  prettier,  there  can  be  none 
less,  and  consequently  none  more  pretty 

Coral.  Ambitiously  to  display  nonsensical  phrases  of  this  sort,  un- 
der the  ridiculous  notion  of  a  familiar  and  easy  manner,  is  not  to  set 
off  the  riches  of  a  language,  but  to  expose  its  rags.  As  such  idioms, 
therefore,  err  alike  against  purity,  simplicity,  perspicuity,  and  ele- 
gance, they  are  entitled  to  no  quarter  from  those  who  may  deem  the 
toregoing  canons  of  any  weight  in  the  art  of  composition. 

Scholium.  The  first  five  of  these  canons  are  intended  to  suggest  the 
principles  by  which  our  choice  ouglit  to  be  directed  in  cases  wherein 
use  itself  is  wavering;  and  the  four  last,  to  point  out  those  further 
improvements  of  construction,  which  verbal  criticism,  without  exceed- 
ing her  legal  powers,  may  assist  in  producing.  There  is  a  danger, 
however,  lest  our  improvements  this  way  be  carried  too  far,  and 
our  mother  tongue,  by  being  too  much  impaired,  bo  impoverished,  and 
so  more  iujiir(^',i  in  copiousness  and  nerves,  than  all  our  refinement 
will  ever  be  able  to  compensate.  ,  For  this  reason  there  ought,  in  sup- 


The  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Criticism.  63 

port  of  every  sentence  of  proscription,  to  be  an  evident  plea  from  the 
principles  of  perspicuity,  eleg^ance  and  harmony, 

104.  The  foregoing  reasoning  furnishes  a  tenth  canon* 
Whatever  be  the  opinion  of  some  grammarians,  the  want  of 
etymology  cannot  be  reckoned  a  sufficient  ground  for  the 
suppression  of  a  significant  term,  which  hath  come  into  good 
use. 

Obs.  It  were  as  unreasonable  to  reject,  on  this  account,  the  assist- 
ance of  an  expressive  word,  that  opportunely  offers  its  service,  when 
perhaps  no  other  word  would  so  exactly  answer  our  purpose,  as  to  re- 
fuse, in  common  life,  the  needful  aid  of  a  proper  person,  because  he 
could  g-ive  no  account  of  his  family  or  pedigree. 

Illus.  Though  what  is  called  canl,  is  generally,  not  necessarily,  not 
always  withotit  etymology,  it  is  not  the  defect,  but  the  baseness  of  the 
use,  which  fixeth  on  it  that  disgraceful  appellation.  No  absolute  mon- 
arch hath  it  more  in  his  power  to  ennoble  a  person  of  obscure  birth, 
than  it  is  in  the  power  of  good  use  to  exalt  words  of  low  or  dubious 
extraction. 

Examples.  Fib,  banter,  fop,  fudge,  have  arisen  from  hovels  no  one 
knows  how  ',  and  Jiimsy,  from  the  cant  of  a  workshop. 

Carol,  It  is  never  from  attention  to  etymology,  which  would  fre- 
quently mislead  us,  but  from  custom,  the  only  infallible  guide  in  this 
matter,  that  the  meanings  of  words  in  present  use  must  be  learned. 
(Art.  76.  and  77.) 

105.  What  has  now  been  said  on  this  topic,  relates  only 
to  such  words  as  bear  no  distinguishable  traces  of  the  base- 
ness of  their  source;  the  case  is  quite  different  in  regard  to 
those  terras,  which  may  be  said  to  proclaim  their  vile  and 
despicable  origin  ;  and  that  either  by  associating  disagree- 
able and  unsuitable  ideas,  or  by  betraying  some  frivolous 
humour  in  their  formation. 

Examples.  Bellytimber,  thorowstitch,  and  dumbfound,  are  of  the 
former ;  and  transmogrify,  bamboozle,  helterskelter,  are  of  the  latter 
class.  Yet  most  of  these  words  are  to  be  found  in  "  Walker's 
Critical  Pronouncing  Dictionary." 

Obs.  These  may  find  a  place  in  burlesque,  but  ought  never  to  show 
themselves  in  any  serious  performance.  A  person  of  no  birth,  as  the 
phrase  is,  may  be  raised  to  the  rank  of  nobility,  and,  which  is  more, 
may  become  it ;  but  nothing  can  add  dignity  to  tliat  man,  or  fit  him 
for  the  company  of  gentlemen,  who  bears  indelible  marks  of  th<i 
elown  in  his  lookj  gait,  and  whole  behaviour. 


64  Grammatical  Puritj/, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OF  GRAMMATICAL  PURITY  . 

106.  PURE  English  composition  implies  three  things^: 
v^r/.  87.; 

First,  that  the  words  be  English,    (.^rf.  S2.) 
Secondly,  that  their  construction,  under  which,  in  our 
tongue,  arrangement  also  is  comprehended,  be  in  the  Eng- 
lish idiom.     (General  Principles,  p.  55.) 

Thirdly y  that  the  words  and  phrases  be  employed  to  ex- 
press the  precise  meaniiiji.  wiiicii  custoia  hath  allixed  to 
them,     (.^rt,  76,) 

Obs.  In  the  foregoing  uvi.tiHi*Mi.  vw;  ii.iw  fMii»^iiiait  d  lii..  i>.i.i.-i"; 
''  pure  Enflflish,"  for  gravimttlical  fmrUy  ;  and  this  we  have  done  for 
two  especial  reasons:  Isi.  Beoau.se  it  is  the  language  in  wnich  we 
write;  and  2dly.  Because  the  language  of  Britain  is  capable  of  that 
grammatical  purity,  and  those  higher  qualities  of  elocution,  and  ora« 
torical  excellence,  which  give  grace  and  energy  to  discou>^e. 

107.  Since  puritr  implies  three  things,  it  may  be  violated 
in  three  ditterent  ways  : 

Firsty  the  words  may  not  be  English. 

This  fault  is  denominated  a  barbarism. 

Secondly,  the  cns^sifrMrtion  of  the  sentence  may  not  be  in 
the  English  idiom. 

This  fault  has  gottci'  ine  name  of  snlecisjn. 

Thirdly,  the  wonls  and  phrases  may  not  be  employed  to 
express  the  precise  meaning,  which  custom  hath  affixed  to 
them. 

This  fault  is  termed  an  impropriety* 

108.  The  reproach  of  barbarism  may  be  incurred  in 
three  ditterent  ways  : — 

1st.  By  the  use  of  words  entirely  obsolete: 
2dly.  By  the  use  of  words  entirely  new  :  or 
Sdly.  By  new  fornuttiuns  and  compositions,  from  simple 
and  primitive  words  in  present  use. 

Illus.  1.  By  the  use  of  obsolete  words.  Obsolete  words  are  not  now 
English,  though  they  might  have  been  so  in  the  days  of  our  forefathers. 
We  cannot  thereforfc  introduce  them.     Foreign  phrases  have  as  mucli 

•  This  distribution  is  agreeable  to  Q,iiintiHan.  Ins*«t.  Hb.  i.  cap.  5.  "  DepreheudS; 
^use  barbara,  quae  irapropria,  quae  contra  Ipj^m  Mwndi  composita." 


As  it  respects  Barbaristns.  65 

dalm  to  be  introduced,  as  those  antiquated  words,  without  riskina:  the 
charge  of  affectation.  Thus,  Thompson,  in  his  "  Castle  of  Indo- 
lence," has  drag^ged  from  their  obscurity  many  words  which  were  al- 
most wholly  unknown,  except  in  Spenser's  <'Fairie  Queene." 

Examples.  Anon,  behest,  fantasy,  cleped,  erst,  uneath,  whilom,  tri- 
bulalion,  erewliile,  whenas,  peradveniure,  selfsame,  offend  more  or  less 
against  Article  86.  and  its  illustration. 

2.  Poets  claim  exemption  from  this  rule  of  never  using  any  words 
but  those  which  are  English,  particularly  on  account  of  the  peculiar 
inconveniences  to  which  the  laws  of  versification  subject  them.  {U- 
lus.  2.  Mrt.  86.) 

3.  Besides,  in  treating  some  topics,  passages  of  ancient  story,  for 
instance,  there  may  sometimes  be  found  a  suitableness  in  the  intro- 
duction of  old  words. 

4.  In  certain  kinds  of  style,  when  used  sparingly  and  with  judg- 
ment, the?  serve  to  add  the  venerable  air  of  antiquity  to  the  narrative. 

6.  In  burlesque  also  they  often  produce  a  good  effect.  But  purity 
requires  that  those  words  only  shall  be  employed  which  are  of  classical 
authority  ;  and  they  who  are  ambitious  to  speak  and  write  with  ele- 
gance, will  select  as  their  guides,  in  conversation  and  oratory,  speak- 
ers of  the  best  elocution,  and  authors  of  the  most  correct  taste,  solid 
matter,  and  refined  manner,  will  form  their  patterns  in  writing.  Clas- 
sical authority,  the  standard  by  which  our  practice  must  be  regulated., 
is  none  other  than  the  example  of  such  speakers. and  writers.  {Art. 
80.  lllus.) 

109.  The  use  of  new  words  inundates  a  language  with  a 
numerous  tribe  of  barbarisms.  A  licentious  aftectation  of 
novelty  rather  than  any  necessity  to  avoid  circumlocutions, 
overwhelms  our  language  with  foreign  words.     (Art,  S5,) 

Examples.  Kumerosily,  cognition,  irrefragibility,  ej/luxion,  are 
from  the  Latin,  and  convey  no  new  meanings,  which  had  not  been 
pre-occupied  by  other  words  of  established  reputation.  And  among 
our  French  imports  we  have  dernier  resort,  beaux  arts,  belles  lettres, 
and  a  legion  besi  ♦rs,  which  son^e  of  our  own  writers,  oth«;rvvise  re- 
spectable, have  fancied  so  many  gems,  capable  of  adding  a  wonderful 
lustre  to  their  works. 

Obs.  1.  But  this  is  a  false  brilliancy,  which  dazzles  only  those  who 
forget  that  the  Greeks  branded  a  foreign  term,  in  any  of  their  writers, 
with  the  odious  name  of  barbarism.  Besides,  the  rules  of  pronuncia- 
tion and  orthography  in  French,  are  so  different  from  those  which  ob- 
tain in  English,  that  the  far  greater  part  of  the  French  words  yearly 
introduced,  constitute  so  many  anomalies  witli  us,  which,  by  loading 
the  grammaticifll  rules  with  exceptions,  greatly  corrupt  the  simplicity 
and  regularity  of  our  tongue/ 

Corol.  Two  considerations  ought  to  weigh  with  writers,  and  hinder 
them  from  wantonly  admitting  into  their  performances,  such  extrane- 
ous productions.  One  is,  if  these  foreigners  be  allowed  to  settle 
amongst  us,  they  vvill  infallibly  supplant  the  old  inhabitants.  What- 
ever ground  is  given  to  the  one,  is  so  much  taken  away  from  the  otlier. 
No  writer,  thei  efore,  ought  to  foment  an  humour  of  innovation  which 

*  See  '•  Pritjciiiks  of  English  Pronunciation,"  prefacing  'r  Walker's  Dictionary.'* 


66  GrammcUical  Puriiy, 

tends  to  make  the  language  of  his  tountry  btill  more  changeable,  nnt'! 
consequently,  to  render  (he  style  of  his  own  writings  sooner  obsolete, 

2.  The  other  consideration  i^,  that  if  he  should  not  be  followed  in 
the  use  of  those  foreign  words  which  he  hath  endeavoured  to  usher  into 
the  language,  if  they  meet  not  with  j  favouiable  rer eption  from  the 
public,  they  wiil  evtrr  appear  as  spots  jn  his  compositions.  Whether, 
therefore,  he  be  or  he  not  imitated,  he  will  himself  prove  a  losrr  in  the 
end.  Moreover,  as  borrowing  naturally  cxposeth  to  the  susjncion  of 
poverty,  this  poverty  will  much  more  readily,  and  more  justly  too,  be 
imputed  to  the  writer  than  lo  the  language. 

In  words,  as  fashions,  the  same  rule  uillhold; 
Alike  fantastic,  if  too  new  or  old  ; 
Be  not  tlie  first  by  wliom  tlie  new  are  tried, 
Nor  yet  the  last  to  lay  the  old  aside.* 

110.  By  the  use  of  good  words  new  modelled.  The  third 
species  of  barbar.sni,  is  that  produced  by  new  formations 
and  compositions  from  primitives  in  present  use. 

Illus.  1.  Greater  liberty  ought  to  hv  given  on  this  article  than  on 
the  former,  provided  the  Enalisli  analogy  be  observed  in  the  composi- 
tion, nnd  the  new  modelled  wanted  in  the  language.  {Jirt. 
104.  nnd  ils  Illus.) 

2.  Never,  on  the  plea  of  nece  ssuy,  patronise  frivolous  innovations  ; 
nor  the  collision  of  words  which  are  naturally  the  most  unfit  for  coa- 
lescing, and  where  the  analogy  of  the  lormation  exhibits  only  an  ob- 
.scure  meaning  till  it  be  analysed.  Rest  assured  this  jargon  will  not 
creep  into  vogue  in  the  charter  language  of  the  present  age.  {Art,  77. 
and  86.) 

3.  Another  modern  refinement  is,  the  alteration  that  has  been  made, 
by  some  late  writers,  on  proper  names,  and  some  other  words  of  for- 
eign extraction,  and  on  their  derivatives,  on  pretence  of  bringing  them 
nearer,  both  in  proniuiciation  and  in  spelling,  to  the  original  names,  as 
they  appear  in  the  language  from  which  those  words  were  taken. — 
But  this  hath  been  the  custom  of  all  nations.  When  the  Grecians  and 
Romans  introduced  a  foreign  name  into  their  languages,  they  made 
such  alterations  in  it,  as  might  facili;ate  the  pronunciation  to  their 
own  people,  and  render  it  more  analogous  to  the  other  wcrds  of  their 
tongue. 

4.  Another  set  of  barbarisms,  which  also  ccm^s  under  this  class,  ari- 
ses from  the  abbreviations  of  polysyllables,  by  lopping  ofl'  all  the  syl- 
lables except  the  first,  or  the  first  and  second. 

Examples.  Uifp  for  "  hypochondriac,"  ult  for  ''  ultimate,"  extra 
for  '•  extraordinary." 

Scholhinu  The  two  classes  of  barbarisms  last  mentioned,  compre- 
hending new  words  and  new  formations,  from  words  still  current, 
otVend  against  use,  considered  both  as  reputable  and  as  national. — 
(Jrl.  77.  and  So.)  A  writer  who  employs  antiquated  or  novel  phrase- 
ology, must  do  it  with  design  :  he  cannot  err  from  inadvertence,  a«  he 
may  do  v^ith  respect  to  provincial  or  vulgar  expresj^ions.  He  can- 
not be  habituated  to  antiquated  or  novel  words  and  phrases.  It  is  ha- 
bit that  renders  it  so  difficult  to  avoid  those  which  are  provincial  or 
vulgar.     How  much  soever  folly  or  vanity  may  actuate  the  herd  of 

•  Pope's  Essay  on  CriticisTn. 


Jls  it  respects  Solecism.  67 

«^oribblers,  whose  greatest  strug^gle  is  to  insinuate  a  favorable  opinion 
<^f  their  erMrf//io7i,  the  writer  of  true  genius  and  taste  will  notevptct  to 
wbtain  reputation  by  such  artifices  He  will  neither  discolour  iii  r.t.b? 
by  the  faint  tioge  of  antiquity  or  novelty,  nor  by  the  coarse  (iauaj.^^ 
of  provinciality  and  vulgarity. 

111.  The  Solecism.  The  transgression  of  any  of  the 
syntactic  rules  is  a  soleeism  ;  and  there  are  various  ways  in 
^vhich  almost  every  rule  may  be  transgressed. 

*  Jllus.  1.  Leaving  it  to  gi-animarians  to  exemplify  and  class  the  fla- 
grant solecisms  which  betray  ignorance  in  the  rudiments  of  the  lan- 
guage ;  we  proceed  to  take  notice  of  a  ^ew  less  observable,  which  wri- 
ters of  great  reputation,  and  even  of  critical  skili  in  the  language,  have 
slidden  into  through  inatt«n<ion. 

2.  Solecisms  are  more  excusable  than  barbarisms  ;  the  former  are 
usually  reckoned  the  effect  of  negligence-  the  latter  of  affectation. — 
Negligence,  often  the  consequence  of  a  noble  ardour  in  regard  to  sen- 
timents, is,  at  the  worst,  a  venial  trespass,  and  sometimes  it  is  not  even 
without  energy  ;  affectation  is  always  a  deadly  sin  agahist  the  laws  of 
rhetoric.     {Obs.  Art.  85.; 

3.  Much  greater  indulgence,  in  the  article  of  solecisms,  is  given  to 
the  speaker  than  to  the  writer  :  and  to  the  writer  who  proposeth  to 
persuade  or  move,  greater  allowances  are  made,  than  to  him  who  pro- 
poseth barely  to  instruct  or  please.  The  more  vehemence  is  required 
by  the  nature  of  the  subject,  the  less  correctness  is  exacted  in  the 
manner  of  treating  it.  Nay,  a  slight  deficiency  in  this  respect  is  not 
nearly  so  prejudicial  to  the  scope  of  an  oration,  as  a  sc'rupalous  accu- 
racy, which  bears  in  it  the  symptoms  of  study  and  art. 

Corol.  Grammatical  inaccuracies  ought  to  be  avoided  by  a  writer^ 
for  two  reasons  :  First,  because  a  reader  will  much  sooner  discover 
them  than  a  hearer,  how  attentive  soever  he  may  be.  Secondly,, 
as  writing"  implies  more  leisure  and  greater  coolness  than  spenking, 
defects  of  this  kind,  when  discovered  in  the  former,  will  be  less  excused 
than  they  would  be  in  the  latter. 

Of  the  various  solecisms  which  may  be  committed,  we  have 

1.  A  mistake  of  the  plural  number  for  the  singular. 

II.  Inaccuracies  in  the  construction  and  application  of  the  degrees  of 
icomparison  suggest  the  following  rules  : 

111  us.  1.  The  comparative  degree  implies  commonly  a  coinparison 
of  one  thing  with  07ie  other  thing  ;  the  superlasive,  on  the  contrary,  al^ 
wavs  implies  a  comparison  of  one  tiling  with  many  others.  The  fo>- 
mer  consequently  requires  to  be  followed  by  the  singular,  the  latter  by 
the  plural,  yet  in  the  sentence,  '■'  He  is  wiser  than  we,"  the  compara- 
tive is  rightly  followed  by  a  plural. 

2.  In  a  comparison  of  equality,  though  the  ^wsiiive  degree  on'y  is 
used,  the  construction  must  be  similar  to  that  of  the  comparative,  b;*t!5 
being  followed  by  conjunctions  which  govern  no  case. 

3.  The  particles,  as  aftet  the  positive,  and  than  after  the  compara- 
tive, are  conjunctions  and  not  prepositions.  For  example,  "  I  esteem 
you  more  than  they,'  is  correct ;  and  so  is  the  sentence,  •'  I  esteoip  you 
more  than  them,"  but  in  a  sense  quite  different  from  the  former,  since 


6  8  Gram  m  atical  Pu  rity, 

in  the  one  case  it  expresses  Iheir  esleem  for  yoVj  and  m  tinr  ^nuc■^  /,<>. 
esteem  for  them. 

Corol.  The  second  canon  (^W. 91.^  whicli  teaches  us  to  prefer  what  is 
most  agreeable  to  analogy,  leads  us  to  decide  that  than  is  a  conjunction. 

4.  The  superlative,  followed  by  the  singular  number,  is  an  error 
which  may  be  corrected  by  substituting  the  comparative  in  room  of 
the  superlative. 

III.  Possessive  pronouns  must  always  agree  in  number  and  person 
with  their  antecedents. 

IV.  Mistakes  in  the  tenses  of  the  verbs  suggest  many  rules. 

Rule.  1.  When  in  two  connected  clauses  the  first  verb  is  in  the  pre- 
senc  or  the  future,  the  second,  w  hich  is  dependent  on  it,  cannot  be  in 
the  past. 

2.  On  the  contrary,  when 
cond  ought  to  be  so  too. 

3.  When  the  fust  verb  ii  in  tli<  i)i  cti  ;  jx  i  in  t .  the  secoml  may  be  iu 
the  preterimperfect. 

4.  In  expressing  abstract  or  universal  truths,  according  to  the  idiom 
of  our  language,  the  present  tense  of  the  verb  ought  always  to  be  used  ; 
because  the  verb,  in  such  cases,  has  no  relation  to  time,  but  serves 
merely  as  a  copula  to  the  two  terms  of  the  proposition.* 

5.  When  speaking  of  a  past  event  which  occasions  the  mention  of 
some  general  truth,  never  use  the  same  tense  in  enunciating  the  gen- 
eral trulh,  with  that  which  had  been  employed  in  the  preceding  part 
of  the  sentence.  • 

(5.  The  construction  of  two  verbs,  both  under  the  regimen  of  the  same- 
conjunction  if.  requires  both  the  verbs  to  be   in  the  subjunctive  muoil. 

7.  Never  omit,  in  a  subi-equent  part  of  a  sentence,  the  participle 
which  makes  part  of  the  complex  tense,  from  an  idea  that  the  occur- 
rence of  a  verl)  in  a  former  clause  of  thesentencewill  supply  thedefect. 

8.  Never  couple  words  together,  and  assign  to  them  a  conmion  r<^ 
gimen,  when  use  will  not  admit  that  they  be  construed  iu  the  same 
inanoer. 

lUus.  **  Will  it  be  urged  that  the  four  gospels  arc  as  old.,  or  even  ol- 
der Uinn  tradition.f"  The  v^ords  as  old  and  o/t/er  cannot  have  a  com- 
mon regimen.  The  one  requires  to  be  followed  by  the  coujunctiou  as, 
the  other  by  than. 

V.  The  connexion  between  the  preposition  and  the  noun  or  pro- 
noun governed  by  it,  is  so  intimate,  that  there  cannot  be  a  reference  to 
the  one  without  theother  The  words  to  whichnre  rightly  construed  willi 
the  passive  participle,  but  the  construction  is  which  with  the  active  verb. 

VI.  The  repetition  of  the  relative,  in  all  sentences,  makes  the  inser- 
tion of  the  personal  pronoun  necessary. 

Jllus.  Both  these  rules  are  transgressrd  in  the  sentence,  "  few  tal- 
ents to  which  most  men  are  not  born,  or  at  least  may  not  acquire,' 
whii:h  ought  to  run  thus,  *•  or  which  at  least  they  may  not  ac<(uire.'' 

Corol.  A  part  of  a  complex  tense  means  nothing  without  the  rest  of 
the  tense  ;  therefore  the  rest  of  the  tense  ought  always  to  be  found  in 
the  sentpuce. 

VII.  In  tlie  syntax  of  nouns,  expressions  which  can  only  be  right!, - 
caustrued  with  a    preposition,    should   never   be  without  tlicir  prop 
legiimen. 

•  In  lo^c  the  copula  is  the  woi-d  vhich  unites  the  subject  ant!  predicate  of  a  propo- 
sition. 

;  Boliub.  l»hil.  i:ss.  IV.  c.  19. 


Ms  it  respects  Impropriety  and  Idioiism.  69 

Vin.  As  regularity  in  the  management  of  prepositions  implies  a  pro- 
)«f  choice  of  these  particles,  their  omission  is  a  great  blemish  when 
their  presence  is  required. 

The  wrong  choice  of  prepositions  suggests  the  necessity  of  not  using 
as  synonymous  such  as  rarely  admit  the  same  construction, 

IX.  Inaccuracies  in  the  applications  of  the  conjunctions  and  ad- 
verbs, arise  from  want  of  attention  to  those  little  things  which  ought 
not  to  be  altogether  disregarded  by  any  writer. 

Carol.  The  words  of  the  language  constitute  the  materials  with 
nhich  the  orator  must  work;  the  rules  of  the  language  teach  hira  by 
A>hat  management  those  materials  are  rendered  useful.  But  purity  is 
using  rightly  the  words  of  the  language  by  a  careful  observance  of  the 
rules.  It  is,  therefore,  justly  considered  as  essential  to  all  the  other 
graces  of  expression.  Ilence,  not  only  perspicuity  and  vivacity,  bufc 
4;ven  elegance  and  animation  d'.;rive  a  lustre. 

112.  The  impropriety  is.  the  thii'd  and  last  class  of 
faults  against  purity.  The  barbarism  is  an  offence  against 
etijmologi/j  the  solecism  against  syntaXy  the  improjmety 
against  lexicography, 

Obs.  The  impropriety,  then,  may  be  in  application  of  single  words, 
or  of  phrases  ;  but  as  none  but  those  who  are  grossly  ignorant  of  our 
tongue,  can  niisappl^"^  the  words  that  have  no  affinity  to  those  whose 
place  they  are  made  to  occui)y,  we  shall  only  take  notice  of  those  im- 
proprieties, into  which  a  writer  is  apt  unwarily  to  be  seduced  by  some 
resemblance  or  proximity  in  sound  or  sense,  or  both. 

I.  By  proximity  of  sound  some  are  misled  to  use  the  word  observa- 
nt for  ^'  observance."     When   io  cbserve  signifies  "  to   remark,"  the 

verbal  noun  is  observation,  when  it  signifies  ''  to  obey,"  or"  to  keep," 
the  verbal  is  obserrance. 

II.  Endurance  for  "  duration."  The  former  properly  signifies  *'  pa- 
tience" as  applied  to  suffering  ;  the  latter  means  '<  lasting"  as  applied 
to  time. 

III.  Ceremonious  and  '^  ceremonial"  are  distinguished  thus  :  they 
come  from  the  same  noun  ceremony,  which  signifies  both  a  form  of  ci- 
-iHfy,  and  a  religious  rite.     The  e[)ithet  expressive  of  the  first  signifi- 

■  i\oi\  h  ceremonious,  of  the  second  ceremoninl. 

iV .  When  genius  denotes  mental  abilities,  its  plural  is  '•'■  geniuses,^ 
and  not  genii,  a  term  which  denotes  spirits  or  demons,  good  or  bad. 

113.  Of  improprieties  arising  from  a  similitude  in  sense^ 
^\  e  have, 

I.  Vtra<iUij,\\?,QA  for  "  reality."  In  strict  propriety  the  word  is  on- 
?y  applicable   to  persons,    and  signifies   not  physical,  but  moral  truth. 

II.  Invention,  for  "discovery."  One  discovers  truth;  another  in- 
vents/a/5e/tooc?5.     x\.  machinisl  invents,  an  observer  discovers. 

III.  Verdict,  (oY  "testimony."  h.  witness  gives  his  testimony;  the 
jury  give  their  verdict. 

IV^  Risible,  for  *•  ridiculous."  The  former  hath  an  active,  the  lat- 
ter a  passive  signification.  Thus,  Ave  say,  "  man  is  a  risible  animal." 
"•  A  fop  is  a  ridiculous  character." 

V.  The  word  together  often  supplies  the  place  of  successively.  The 
resemblance  which  continuity  in  time  bears  to  continuity  in  place,  is 
ihe  source  of  this  impropriety.     ^Vhen  the  Spectator  says.  "  I  do  not 


70  Grammatical  Puriiy, 

reinfmber  that  I  ever  spoke  three  sentences  together  in  my  whole  life/* 

propiiety  teat  hcs  his  reader   to  substitute  successively   lor  '^  togethiSr.  ' 

VI     Ereriasfing  for  "  eternity."     The  only  proper  sense  of  the  for- 

iner  word  is  time  without  end  ;  the  hater  denotes  time  without  begiic- 

VIJ.  .^pparcni,  for  "  certain,"  "  manifest,"  is  often  equivocal.  By 
jnah)iry,  seeming  is  opposed  to  real  ;  lisibtt  to  cancealtd.  And  hence, 
ilso,  "  to  make  aj  pear,"  for  to  prurc,  to  evince,  to  .shun:,  i>  impr©per. 
\  sophist  may  make  a  thing  appear  to  be   what  it  -        at  this  is 

^  ory  different  from  showing  wliat  it  is. 

114.  The  idiotism,  or  the  employing  of  an  English  word 
in  a  sense  which  it  bears  in  some  provincial  dialect,  in  low 
din]  partial  use,  or  which,  }>erhaps  t!ie  corresponding  word 
K*ars  in  some  foreign  tongue,  but  unsupported  by  general 
use  in  our  own  language,  belongs  to  the  class  of  improprie- 
lies  now  under  consideration,     (.^rt.  102.J 

1.  Impracticable  for  **  impassable,"  when  applied  to  roads,  is  an  ap- 
l)lication  which  suits  the  French,  but  not  the  Engli>ii  idiom. 

II.  Decompound  for  "  analyse."  To  decompound  is  ^' to  compound 
of  materials  already  compounded  :"  to  ftualr!^c  is  to  resolve  a  com- 
pound into  its  first  princii»lc^ 

in     7'o  flrrirc  for '•  happ«-i  isfortunes 

'<(i})pen  to  man. 

IV.  To  hold  ^U  :nio 
or  **to  adopt." 

Obs.  Gallicisms,  Latinisms,  and  vulgarisms,  result  from  atVectation; 
ocdjintry,  and  ignorance.     {Obs.  Mrt.  85.) 

V.  I'he  Pleonasm,  coupled  with  ambiguity,  is  the  highest  degree  of 
//omrr/ica/ expression  ;  as, '•  the  general  report  is,  that /tc  should  have 
tid ;"  for,  *'  that  he  said."  What  a  man  said,  Is  often  very  different- 
loiu  what  ho  should  have  said  ;  hence  the  pleonasm  of  the  auxiliaries, 

.-.hould  have,"  conveys  also  uu  ftnil>i^uity 

Obs.  These  remarks  on  the  idiulhin,do  nox  extend  to  satiic  and  bur- 
sfjue,  {Obs.Jrt.  105.)  in  which  a  vulgar,  or  even  what  is  callcfl  a  cant 
Kpression,  will  sometimes  be  more  einphatical   (Ann  ;iny  ju-!-      t     ^ 
\hatever;  as  in  tiiese  lines  of  Pope  : 

Whcdicv  the  charmer  sinner  it  or  saint  ii 
If  folly  grows  i-omanlic,  1  must  i»aint  ii. 

VI.  I  IK   iiorivatives  fhlsencss,  falsity,  falsehood,  i     ;  :  .       ;  ...    ,  , 
.ro  often  by  mistake  employed  for  one  another,  thou^ii  in  the  bcit  use 
iioy  are  evidently  distinguished. 

fllus.  1.  Falseness  is  properly  used,  in  a  moral  sense,  for  want  ol 
>  eracity,  and  applied  only  to  persons  :  the  other  two  arc  a])plied  onh 
o  things. 

2.  Fal.'iity  denotes  that  quality  in  the  abstract,  which  may  be  defined 
ontrariety  to  truth,  as  an  error  arising  in  a  demonstration  fiom  false 
>remises  in  the  proposition. 

3.  Falsehood  is  au  untrue  assertion. 

V'll.  J\'cgligence  is  improperly  used  for  "  nc-.jc  l        1;,^  iw, 
pliis  habit,  tiie  latter  denotes  act. 

Vlll.   Co7isr/e?ice  for  *•  consciousness."     Tlie  former  dcuotci!:  ; 
ulty.  the  hitter  a  particular  exertion. 


Tis  it  respects  the  Idiotism  and  Vulgarism,  ,-1 

1%.  Sophisrn,  for  "  sophistry."  The  fonmir  dpnotes  di  fallacious  ar- 
I  anient,  the  latter  fallacious  reasoning. 

X.  Remember,  for  "  remind."  Ave  are  reminded,  by  others:  wc  re- 
member o/owr^e/re^. 

XI.  Plenty,  for  <•  plentiful."  The  latter  is  an  adjective,  the  for^ier, 
^  noun.     The  misapplication  of  either  is  a  ?>ross  vulgarism.^ 

XIJ.  Doctrines,  for  '<  precepts."  The  former  are  credarZa,  which 
we  are  required  to  believe  ;  the  latter,  we  are  called  ofi  to  obey,  as 
rules  of  life. 

115.  The  VULGARISM  springs  from  ar  affectation  of  an 
€asj,  familiar,  and  careless  manner  of  writing  ;  but  it  is  an 
error  to  imagine,  that  tlie  less  paiu,^  one  bestows  upon  style, 
it  must  appear  the  more  natural, 

Obs.  1.  Ease  is  one  thing^,  carelessness  another  ;  and  the  former  is 
most  commonly  the  result  of  the  greatest  care.  It  is  like  ease  in  mo- 
tion, which,  though  originalif  the  effect  of  discipline,  when  once  it 
hath  become  habitual,  has  a  more  simple  and  more  natural  appear- 
ance, than  is  to  be  obs*»'i  ved  in  any  manner  which  untutored  nature 
can  produce. 

But  ease  ib  writing  flows  from  art.  not  chance  ; 
As  those  uiove  easiest  who  have  icarnt  to  dauce.* 

116.  The  love  o^  novelty,  and  a  fondness  for  variety,  are 
the  t\v<?  sources  whence  flow  those  numerous  inadvertencies 
v--itli  which  the  style  of  many  writers  is  chargeable.  (Art, 
78,  Itlus.)      . 

Illus.  1.  The  fonrier,  whe;i  excessive,  tends  directly  to  misg-uide  us, 
hy  making  us  disdain  the  beaten  track,  for  no  other  reason  but  because 
it  is  the  bealen  track.  The  idea  of  vulgarity,  in  the  imaginations  of 
those  who  are  affected  with  this  principle,  is  connected  with  every 
thing  that  is  conceived  as  customary.  The  genuine  issue  of  this  ex- 
treme, is,  not  oidy  improprieties,  but  even  absurdities,  and  fustian  and 
bombast. 

2.  The  latter,  to  wit,  a  fondness  for  variety,  provlaceth  often  the 
snnie  effect,  though  more  indirectly.  It  begets  an  immoderate  dread 
of  becoming  tedious,  by  repeating  too  frequently  the  same  sound.  lu 
order  to  avoid  this,  a  writer  resolves,  at  any  rate,  to  diversily  his 
style,  let  it  cost  what  it  will.  But  this  fancied  excellence  usually  costs 
more  than  it  is  v.'orth  ;  for  to  it,  very  often,  propriety  and  perspicuity 
are  both  sacrificed. 

Obs.  From  these  illustrations,  we  derive  the  following  criteria  : — 

Crit.  I.  The  mind  is  fatigued  by  the  frequent  recurrence  of  the  same 
idea  :  tluit  performance  which  grows  dull  as  we  advance,  is  charge- 
able with  an  excess  of  uniformity. 

Corol.  If,  therefore,  there  be  a  remarkable  paucity  of  ideas,  a  diver- 
sity of  words  will  not  answer  the  purpose,  or  give  to  ihe  work  the  ap- 
pearance  of  variety. 

li.  On  the  contrary,  when  an  author  is  at  great  pains  to  vary  his 
iRxpressions,  and  for  this  purpos'>  ever  deserts  the  common  road,  he 
V'ill.  to  an  intelligent  read*  r,  br.t  the  more  expose  his  poverty;  the  mor** 

*  Pope's  Imitations. 


1  Impropriety  in  Phrases  and  Precision. 

he  is  solicitous  to  conceal  k.  You  will  discover  this  penni y,  when  a»v 
author  is  always  recurring  to  such  words  as  custom  hath  appropriu- 
ied  to  purposes  different  from  those  for  which  we  use  them. 

117.  Impropriety  in  phrases  is  ascertained,  when  the 
expression,  on  being  grammatically  analysed,  is  discovered 
to  contain  some  inconsistency. 

Jllus.  1.  Such  is  the  phrase  of  all  others,  after  the  superlative  degree, 
which,  when  int^^ipretcd  by  the  rules  of  English  syntax,  implies  rt 
thins;  different  from  itself;  as  it  "  celebrates  the  Church  of  Englanct 
as  the  most  perfect  of  ftU  others.''*  Properly,  cither — "  as  more  per- 
fect than  any  other  ;" — ftr,  ^<  as  the  most  perfect  of  all  churches." 

2.  On  this  principle,  Miltcn  falls  into  an  impropriety  iu  thc?T^ 
w  ords  : — 

-       -       -       Ai\am, 
The  comeliest  man  of  nion  shut  ^^rn 
His  totut.    The  faiivst  of  her  dave,lifcvt,  Eve.t 

-        -        -        -         The  lovviicsl  pgjr 
That  ever  since  in  love's  embraces  inet4 

3.  The  general  laws  of  the  language,  whicii  constitute  the  most  vr 
tensive  and  important  use,  may  be  pleaded  agaiitst  these  expressions 
Now  it  is  one  principal  method  of  purifying  a  langT«;ige,  to  lay  aside- 
-uch  idioms  as  are  inconsistent  with  its  radical  princffJcs  and  consti- 
tuent rules  ;  or  as,  when  interpreted  by  such  principlf^s  nnd  rules,  ex- 
hibit manifest  nonsense.  Nor  does  the  least  inconvenience  i^ult  from 
lais  conduct,  as  we  can  be  at  no  loss  to  find  expressions  of  our  ir-oan- 
ing  altogether  as  natural,   and  entirely  unexceptionable. 

4.  '*  Than  the  rest  o/our  neighbours,"  is  an  improfwiety  which  may 
be  corrected  by  omitting  the  words  in  Itp.lics.  And  when  Swift,  in  big 
voyage  to  Brobdignag,  says,  *'  I  had  like  >«  have  gotten  one  or  two 
broken  heads  ;"  one  unavoidably  asks,  "  how  many  heads  be  had  on 
his  body  .'"'  That  '*  once  or  twice''  he  had  like  to  have  got  his  head 
broken  tor  his  impertinence,  one  can  easily  conceive. 

5.  One  thing  may  be  cut  into  two  or  more  ;  but  it  is  inconceivable, 
that  by  rutting,  two  or  more  things  should  be  made  one.  We  cannot 
iherefore  speaiL  of  shortening  discourse,  *'  by  cutting  polysyllables 
iuto  one<§." 

r>.  A  wrong,  wilfully  committed,  is  no  mistake.  The  words  used  in 
\he  following  sentence,  are  therefore  incompatible  : — ^'  I  have  not  wil' 
/tJ/^  committed  the  least  mistakej]." 

7.  A  pure  limpid  stream  cannot  also  be  foul  with  stains  ;  therefore 
the  following  lines, 

So  the  fmre  limpid  stream,  >» hen /oi//  itith  stains. 
Of  rushing  torrents  and  descendiiig  rains?, 

involve  in  them  an  absurdity,  rather  than  an  impropriety. 

8.  When  an  author  says  one  thing  aud  means  another,  his  fault  may 
be  class«Hl  with  impropriety  in  phrases  ;  or  it  may  come  under  the  ar- 
.ticle  of  perspicuity. 

9  It  is  an  incongruity  in  the  combination  of  words,  to  speak  of 
^'falling  into  a  man's  conversation**  ;"  and  to  "/a//  into  conversation 

*  SwilVs  Apology  for  the  Tale  of  a  Tub.  t  Paradist-  Lost  t  Il>it'.  b.  in 

§  "  Voxa^e  to  Laputa."  j!  Swifts  •'  Remarks  oa  the  Barrier  Trearv,** 

*I  Addison's  Cato.  *•  Spectator,  No»  49. 


Intproprieiy  in  Phrases  and  Precision,  75 

fijilh  a  man*,"  is  little  better  than  tlie  impropriety  in  another  dress  V 
for  grammatical  purity,  the  most  essential  ol  ail  the  virtues  of  elocu- 
tion, would  teach  another  construction. 

1 1 8,  Precision  is  the  last  ingredient  of  perspiouity. 
Precision  means,  that  all  redundant  phraseology  shall,  with- 
out hesitation,  be  expunged  ;  and  that  no  more  words  and 
phrases,  however  pure  and  proper,  shall  be  employed,  than 
are  necessary  to  convey  the  meaning. 

JUus.  The  exact  import  of  precision,  may  be  drawn  from  the  ety* 
mology  of  the  word.  It  comes  from  '^  pra^cidere,"  to  cut  off:  it  im- 
ports retrenching  all  superfluities,  and  pruning- the  expression  so  as  to 
exhibit  neither  more  or  less  than  an  exact  copy  of  his  idea  who  uses  it. 
It  is  often  ditiicult  to  separate  the  quantities  of  style  from  the  qualities 
of  thought  ;  and  it  is  found  so  in  this  instance  ;  for,  in  order  to  write 
witii  precision,  though  this  be  properly  a  quality  of  style,  one  most 
possess  a  very  considerable  degree  of  distinctness  and  accuracy  in  i\is 
manner  of  thinking.     (Arl.  74.  CoroL) 

119.  The  words  which  a  man  uses  to  express  his  ideas 
may  be  faulty  in  three  respects  ;  they  may  either  not  ex- 
press that  idea  which  the  author  intends,  but  some  other 
v/hich  only  resembles,  or  is  a-kin  to  it  ;  or,  they  may  ex- 
press that  idea,  but  not  quite  fully  and  completely ;  or,  they 
may  express  it,  together  with  something  more  than  he  in- 
tends. 

lilus.  1.  Precision  stands  opposed  to  all  these  three  faults  ;  but  chief- 
ly to  the  last.  In  an  author's  writing  with  propriety,  his  bei«)g  free 
from  the  two  former  faults  seems  implied.  The  words  which  he  uses 
are  proper  ;  that  is,  they  express  that  idea  which  he  intends,  and  they 
express  it  fully  ;  but  to  be  precise,  signifies,  that  thoy  express  that 
idea,  ftvid  no  more.  There  is  nothing  in  his  words  v.'hich  introduces 
auy  forel^^v  idea,  any  superfluous,  unseasonable  accessory,  so  as  to 
mix  it  confuseCtW  vvidj  the  principal  object,  and  thereby  to  render  otir 
conception  of  that  vAiect  loose  and  indistinct.  Tiiis  requires  a  writer 
to  have,  himself,  a  very  c\>^c,,.  apprehension  of  the  object  he  means  to 
represent  to  us  ;  to  have  laid  ia^  hold  of  it  in  his  mind  ;  and  never  to 
waver  in  any  one  view  he  takes  of  u  >  ^  perfection  to  which,  indeed^ 
few  writers  attain. 

2.  The  following  examples  possess  all  the  ingredier-.ig  now  specified. 
"  Those  who  live  in  the  world,  and  in  good  company,  at*  qaicksi<Tht- 
ed  with  regard  to  every  defect  or  singularity  in  behaviour  ;  the  ellg^ht- 
est  irregularity  in  motion,  in  speech,  or  in  dress,  which,  to  a  peasant, 
would  be  invisible,  escapes  not  their  observation." — "  The  very  pop- 
ulace in  Athens,  were  critics  in  pronunciation,  in  language,  and  even 
in  eloquence  ;  and  in  Rome  at  present,  the  most  illiterate  shop-keeper 
is  a  better  judge  of  statues  and  of  pictures,  than  many  persons  of  re- 
fined education  in  Londonf."  No  word  or  phrase  is  wanting  ;  na 
word  or  phrase  is  superfluous ;  all  are  pure  and'&.U  are  proper. 

*  Campbell's  Phil,  of  Rhet.  Vol.  I  Book  ii.  Chap.4ii. 
t  Lord  Kame's  iilements  of  Cnticism. 


74  Grammatical  Purity 

120.  The  use  and  importance  of  precision,  may  be  deda- 
ceil  from  the  nature  of  the  human  mind.  It  can  never  view, 
clearly  and  distinctly,  above  one  object  at  a  time.  If  it 
must  look  at  two  or  three  together,  especially  objects  among 
which  there  is  a  resemblance  or  connexion,  it  finds  itself 
confused  and  embarrassed.  It  cannot  clearly  perceive  in 
what  they  agree,  and  in  what  they  dift'er. 

[llus.  Thus,  were  any  object,  suppose  some  animal,  to  be  presented 
to  mo,  of  whose  structure  1  wanted  to  form  a  distinct  notion,  I  would 
desire  all  its  trap{>ings  to  be  taken  oft',  1  would  require  it  to  be  brought 
before  nie  by  itself,  and  to  stand  alone,  that  there  might  be  nothing^  to 
♦listract  my  attention.  The  same  is  the  case  v.ith  words.  If,  when 
you  would  inform  me  of  your  meaning,  you  also  tell  me  more  than 
what  conveys  it  ;  if  you  join  foreii^n  circumstances  to  th  ?  principal 
object  ;  if,  by  unnecessarily  varying^  the  expression,  you  shift  the 
point  of  view,  and  make  me  see  sometimes  the  object  itself,  and  some- 
times ajjother  thino^  that  is  connected  with  it  ;  you  thereby  oblijsre 
mc  to  look  on  several  objects  at  once,  and  1  lose  sight  of  the  principal. 
You  load  the  animnl  you  are  shewing  me,  with  so  many  trappings  and 
collars,  and  bring  so  many  of  the  same  species  before  me,  somewhat 
resembling,  and  yet  somewhat  differing,  that  1  sec  none  of  them 
clearly.* 

121.  Tiiis  forms  what  is  called  a  loose  style  ;  a:.;!  i^  ^he 
proper  opposite  to  precision.  It  generally  arises  from  using 
a  superfluity  of  wonls.  Feeble  writers  employ  n  multitude 
of  words  to  make  themselves  understood,  as  they  think, 
more  distinctly  ;  and  they  only  confound  the  reader. 

Illns.  They  arc  sensible  of  not  having  caught  the  precise  expression, 
to  convey  %\hat  they  would  signify  ;  they  do  not,  indeed,  conceive 
their  own  moaning  very  prccisolv  themselves  ;  and,  therefore,  hdp  U 
out,  as  they  can,  by  this  and  the  other  word,  which  may,  as  tb^v  sup- 
))ose,  supply  the  delVrt,  and  bring  you  somewhat  nearer  'Vi  their  idea  : 
thov  arc  always  going  about  it  and  about  it,  l)ut  j>rver  just  bit  the 
thing.  The  imago,  as  they  set  it  before  you,  •'*  always  seen  double  ; 
and'^no  double  image  is  distinct.  VVh**"  «'»n  author  tells  me  of  his 
hcros  courai^c  in  the  day  of  battle,  the  expression  is  precise,  and  I 
understand  it  fullv.  But  if  from  the  desire  of  mnltiplying  words,  he 
must  needs  praise,  his  courage  anrl  fortitude  ;  at  the  moment  he  joins 
these  words  to*<f  thor,  my  idea  begias  to  waver.  He  means  to  express 
one  qualit''  more  strongly  ;  but  he  is,  in  truth,  expressing  two.  Coit- 
y.'^rrfi  roslsts  daHgor;  fortitude  supports  pain.  The  occasion  of  exert- 
ing each  of  these  qualities  is  different  ;  and  being  led  to  think  of  both 
together,  when  only  one  of  them  should  be  before  me.  my  view  is  ren- 
dered unsteady,  and  my  conception  of  the  objects  indistinct. 

Carol.  Front  what  has  been  said,  it  appears  that  an  author  may,  in 
a  qualified  sense,  be  perspicuous,  while  yet  he  is  far  from  being  pre- 
rise  He  uses  proper  words,  and  proper  arrangement  ;  he  gives  you 
»!ie  idea  as  clear  as  he  conceives  it  himself ;  and  so  far  he  is  perspic- 
uous :  but   the  i^eas   are  not  very  clear  in  his  own  mind  :  they  are 

*  Blair's  Lect.  on  Rhet.  Vol.  ^. 


as  it  respects  Precision.  75 

-loose  and  g-cneral ;  and,  therefore,  cannot  be  expressed  with  precision. 
Ail  subjects  do  not  equally  require  precision.  It  is  sullicient,  oij  many 
occasions,  that  we  have  u  general  view  of  the  meaning-  The  subject, 
perhaps,  is  of  the  known  and  familiar  kind  ;  and  we  arc  in  no  hazard 
of  mistaking  the  sense  of  the  author,  though  every  word  which  he  uses 
be  not  precise  and  exact. 

122.  Precision  is  frequently  violated  by  the  introduction 
of  {supernumerary  words  and  phrases,  (lllus.  XyCind  2.j  ;  but 
chiefly  by  the  accumulation  of  those  which  are  either  nearly 
synonymous,  or  which,  though  not  synonymous,  include  the 
signification  of  one  another.    (A.it,  123.) 

Illas.  1.  "  I  should  be  glad  to  know  what  intervals  of  life  such  per* 
sons  can  possibly  set  apart  for  the  improvement  of  their  minds'*."  The 
adverb  possibly  is  superfluous.  It  suggests  no  meaning  not  implied  in 
the  auxiliary  c«?i,  which  denotes  all  the  power  or  capacity  of  an  agent, 

2.  '•  The  pleasures  of  imagination  are  rnore  preferable  than  those  (>f 
sense  or  intellectf." — '•  The  very  slightest  singularity^."  More  is  su- 
perfluous, when  added  to  preferable,  and  very  is  the  same  when  added 
to  slig/ilest.  Preferable,  and  slightest,  express  every  idea  contained  in 
■more  preferable,  and  very  slighlest.  These  redundances  are  derived 
from  conversation,  the  vulgarities  and  inaccuracies  of  which  frequent- 
ly insinuate  themselves  insensibly  into  our  written  language. 

123.  The  more  frequent  violations  of  precision,  those 
indeed  more  difficult  to  be  avoided  and  corrected,  are  of  the 
second  class,  and  appear  when  words  or  phrases  are  intro- 
duced, which  have  their  meaning  anticipated  by  the  general 
sense,  or  by  other  words  of  the  sentence. 

lUus.  1.  Horace  himself  is  not  altogether  unexceptionable. 

*'  Q.uod  si  me  vatibus  Lyricis  inseres, 
Sublimi  feriam  sldei*a  vtvtice."" 

The  adjective  sublivii  is  j-crfectly  agreeable  in  sound,  nay,  necessary 
to  complete  the  versification,  but  it  is  superfluous  in  communicating- 
the  sense  ;  because,  after  acquainting  us  that  his  head  would  strike 
ihe  stars,  the  poet  had  no  need  to  add,  that  it  would  be  raised  \cry  high. 
,2.  Addison  begins  the  tragedy  of  Cato  with  a  series  of  tautologies. 

'•  The  dawn  is  overcast,  the  morning  low'vs, 
And  heavily  in  clouds  brings  on  the  day, 
'1  he  great,  the  important  day,  big  with  the  fate 
Of  Cato  and  of  Rome." 

in  the  first  two  lines,  the  same  sentiment  is  three  times  repeated  iu 
different  words.  ''  The  dawn  is  overcast,"  means  no  more  llian  "  the 
morning  lowers,"  and  both  these  phrases  denote  exactly  the  same 
sense  with  the  line  that  follows,  "  and  heavily  in  clouds  brings  on  the 
day."  Three  synonymous  words  appear  in  the  third  line  ;  "  the  great, 
the  important  day,  big  with  the  fate."  The  author  might  as  well  have 
repeated  any  one  of  these  words  three  times,  had  it  not  been  for  ihp 
sake  of  the  measure. 

3.  What  is  farther  remarkable,  is,  titat  this  o^^araple  points  out  one 
#f  the  classical  sources  from  which  Addison  derived  many  of  the  splen^ 

*  S\vift.  tAdcIisoo,  I  Elemems  of  Cntieisoa. 


r  I)  Grammatical  Ptirliyy 

tlid  sentiments  of  this  work.  Lucan  introduces  the  day  on  which  the 
battle  of  Phaisalia  was  fought,  in  terms,  wh'ch  leave  no  room  to  doubt ^ 
tliat  Addison  had  the  description  in  his  "  minds  eye,"  when  he  began 
«he  trag^edy  oi  Cato. 

*•  Se;^iiior  oceaiio  quam  lex  eterna  vocabat, 
I.uctificus  Titan,  nunqiiam  niagis  tttlitTa  contra 
Kgil  equos.  currunjque.  polo  ra])itnte.  rt-torsit. 
DeffCtiisque  pati  volnit,  rapt;»:qiie  labores 
Lucis  ;  et  attraxit  nubes,  non  pahula  tiamnxx; 
Si-d  n«.-  Thcssalico  purus  luct-rct  in  orbe." 

It  was  unlucky  that  Ad'Jison  could  appropriate  no  circumstance  of 
'his  magnificent  description,  but  the  one  he  has  selected  :  the  dark- 
;iess  of  the  morning,  resulting  from  the  quantity  and  thickness  of  the 
'  loiids,  which  induced  him,  perhaps,  to  dwell  on  it  to  excess. 

Obs.  J.  Cicero,  in  his  orations  to  the  people,  seems  to  have  been 
_  uided  by  the  opinion,  that  full,  flowing,  and  copious  diction,  was  most 
>  ongruous  to  the  taste,  and  best  a  lapted  to  lead  the  resolutions,  of  a 
poj»ular  audience  ;  but,  that  it  was  less  correct  in  itself,  that  it  was  un- 
-iiiiiable  to  the  oratory  of  tiie  senate,  and  that  it  was  still  more  discord- 
:int  with  the  style  of  his  philosophical  and  critical  works. 

2.  His  great  master,  Demosthenes,  in  addressing  similar  audiences, 
never  had  recourse  to  a  similar  expedient.  He  avoide<i  redundances, 
IS  equivocal  and  feeble.  He  aimed  only  to  make  the  deepest  and  most 
'  flicient  impression  ;  and  he  employed  for  this  purpose,  the  plainest, 
iie  fewest,  and  the  most  emphatic  words.  '•  ifupernumerary  wordb 
.nay  swell  a  period,  or  captivate,  tiie  ear,  but  they  inust  diminish  the 
rlTect  upon  the  understanding  or  the  heart.""*     (§  V.p.  70.) 

/////.?.  1.  In  sujjport  of  these  remarks,  we  shall  select  some  passages 
from  the  orations  of  Cicero  against  Cataline,  addressed  to  tlie  people. 

'*  Multi  sa^pe  honores  diis  immortalibus,  jasti,  habiti  sunt,  ac  debili ; 
-cd  profecto  justlores  nunquam.  Erepti  enim  ex  crudellssimo  ac  mi- 
!  errimo  intentu,  et  erepti  sine  caide,  sine  sanguine,  sine  cxcrcitu,  sine 
dimicationc,  me  uno,  togato  duce  et  imperatore,  vicisti.;.*' 

The  words,  **  ca'de,  sanguine,  excrcitu,  dimicatione,"  are  not  synon- 
'.  mous,  yet  do  they  virtually  include  the  me.4.ning  of  one  another,  and 
'herefore  multiply  words,  without  impressing  or  extending  the  mean- 
ing, without  completing  or  embellishing  the  picture. 

Again.  If  there  was  no  slaughter,  it  was  unnecessary  to  add,  that 
)io  blood  was  shed  ;  aud  if  there  was  no  army,  there  could  be  neither 
.laughter,  blood,  nor  lighting.  He  might  as  well  have  subjoined  many 
'<iher  puerilities  ;  as,  "  without  marching,  without  swords,  without 
dust,  without  fatigue."  Besides  the  quaintness  of  supj)osing'  himself  a 
general  "  without  an  army,"  expressed  in  the  clause,  "  me  uno,  toga- 
to duce  et  imperatore,"  duct  and  imperatore  are  perfectly  synonymous, 
iud  one  of  them  is  therefore  superlluous. 

2.  '•  Neque  nos  unquam,  dum  iile  in  urbe  hostis  fuisset,  tantis  peri- 
4ndis  rempublicam,  tanta  pace,  tanto  otio,  tanto  silentio,  iiberassemus." 
'J'he  words,  "  otio,  silentio,  pa.ce,"  like  those  specified  in  the  j)recedino 
example,  all  imply  the  signification  of  one  another  :  they  swell  the  pe- 
riod ;  they  detain  the  same  idea  in  view  ;  but  tiiey  convey  no  additional 
information. 

3.  Tillotson  is  among  the  most  remarkable  of  English  writers  of  re^ 
putation,  for  the  profuse  use  of  synonymous  teims  :  as,  for  example, 
tjic  following. 


as  it  respects  Precision.  77 

*'  Acquiesce,  and  rest  satisfied  with." — "  Upon  the  testimony  and 
relation  of  others." — "  Governed  and  conducted,*' — "  Corruption  and 
degeneracy." — "  Embroiled  and  disordered." — "  Wavering-  and  un- 
settled."— '*  Apprehensions  and  fears." — "  Support  n\.d  bear  up." — 
*'  Positive  and  peremptory." — *'  Special  and  particular." 

4.  Kven  some  late  authors  of  great  eminence,  will  not,  perhaps,  be 
admitted  to  be  altogether  exempt  from  reprehension.  "  1  am  certain 
and  confident,  that  the  account  1  have  given  is  true." — "  Many  excur- 
sions, fortuitous  and  unguided,  have  been  made." — "  A  word  is  unfa- 
miliar by  disuse,  and  unpleasant  by  unfamiliarity." 

In  the  first  of  these  examples,  the  words,  "  certain"  and  "  confi- 
deiit  ;"  in  the  second,  "  fortuitous"  and  '•  unguided  ;"  and  in  the  third, 
''disuse"  and  "  unfamiliarity,"  will  be  held  by  nice  critics,  to  be  either 
too  nearly  synonymous,  or  to  include  too  much  the  meaning  of  one  an- 
other, to  permit,  with  propriety,  their  being  placed  in  juxta-position  iu 
the  same  sentence,     (^rt.  113.'  §  VII.) 

Scholia  1.  It  is  observed  by  Barrow,  that  these  accumulations  of 
words  may  perhaps  appear,  in  part,  to  result  from  the  deficiency  of 
language,  which  supplies  not  a  pertinent  word  for  every  idea  ;  but  they 
are  much  more  the  offspring-  of  indistinct  apprehension  in  the  authors. 
When  our  ideas  are  not  clear,  our  expression  savours  of  similar  em- 
barrassment. As  we  do  not  perceive  completely  what  we  intend  to 
communicate,  we  multiply  words,  concluding,  most  erroneous!}',  that 
the  meaning-  is  more  lully  and  accurately  expressed,  and  that  the 
chance  is  greater  of  our  being  better  understood.  We  do  not  attem{)t 
to  remove  the  origin  of  the  error — the  obscurity  of  our  thoughts  ;  we 
do  not  attend  to  this  fact,  that  the  deepest  impression  is  made  when  no 
more  words  are  employed  than  are  necessary  to  convey  the  sense,  and 
that  every  superfluous  expression  contributes  to  confound,  not  to  en- 
lighten the  understanding.     "  Obstat  quicquid  non  adjuvat,"* 

2.  But  a  considerable  number  of  words,  either  synonymous,  or  near- 
ly so,  in  a  language,  is  so  far  from  being  a  blemish,  or  a  cause  of  dis- 
order, that  they  are  a  source  of  much  convenicncy,  and  even  of  some 
pleasure.  They  enable  us  to  infuse  variety  into  style  ;  and  to  prcvojt 
the  monotony  which  arises  from  the  too  frequent  recurrence  of  the 
same  sound.  These  changes  of  words,  and  modulation,  constitute  the 
richness  of  a  language,  and  the  writer  possesses  important  advantages, 
who  finds  his  endeavours  to  improve  his  composition,  seconded  by  the 
structure  of  the  tongue  which  he  employs. 

o.  Yet  the  number  of  synonymous  words  is  not  so  great  in  any  lan- 
guage as  is  commonly  supposed.  Few  people  are  at  much  pains  to  as- 
certain the  meaning  of  the  words  they  use  ;  or  to  inquire  whether  the 
sense  which  they  affix  to  any  word,  is  tlic  most  pertinent,  or  adopted 
by  the  most  accurate  judges.  Even  authors  frequently  assign  their 
o-»vn  meaning-  to  their  words,  without  inquiring  scrupulously,  whether 
it  is  the  most  classical,  or  the  most  proper.  They  generally  infer, 
that  the  reader's  opinion  will  coinc;;'-  with  their  own,  or  that  he  will 
easily  perceive  the  difference  :  gz  iiiat  no  ambiguity  shall  arise. 

4.  For  these  reasons,  synT>nyiiious  words  are  supposed  more  numer- 
ous than  they  are,  and  nmch  more  so  than  nicety  of  criticism  will  ad 
mit.  Authors,  on  one  hand,  are  careless  in  the  meanings  which  they 
ailir  to  words.  The  critics,  on  the  other,  are  too  refined,  in  establish- 
ing meanings,  which  even  accurate  authors  neither  remember  nor  ap- 

*  (\nHictlUan. 


78  Grammatical  Purity, 

ply.  The  i.ibours  of  the  critic  may  excite  attention,  and  diminish  iin* 
proprieties  ;  but  they  cannot  expect  that  practice  will  realize,  in  any 
lanji^uage,  the  nice  distinctions,  or  refined  raricties.  which  they  may 
have  endeavoured  to  introduce. 

124.  The  instances  which  are  given  in  the  following  illus- 
trations, may  themselves  be  of  use  ;  and  thej  v.  ill  serve  to 
shew  the  necessity  of  attending,  with  care  and  strictness,  to 
the  exact  import  of  words,  if  ever  we  would  write  with  pro- 
priety or  precision. 

Tlhis.  1.  Jusferih/,  strtrUjj,  rigour.  Austerity  relates  to  the  manner 
ol  living-;  severity,  of  thinUing^ ;  rigour,  of  punishing.  To  austerity,  is 
opposed  eircminacy  ;  to  severity,  relaxation  ;  to  ri«;our,  clemency.  A 
hermit  is  austere  in  his  life  ;  a  casuist,  severe  in  his  application  of  re- 
jigion  or  law  ;  a  jud^c,  rigorous  in  his  sentences. 

2.  Cusloni.  habit.  Custom,  respects  the  action  ;  habit,  the  actor. 
By  custom,  we  mean  the  frequent  repetition  of  the  same  act  ;  by  habit^ 
the  efiect  which  that  repetition  producRs  on  the  mind  or  body.  By  the 
custom  of  walking-  often  in  the  streets,  one  acquires  a  habit  of  idleness, 

o.  Surprised,  nslonishcdj  amaztd,  ronfounded.  I  am  surprised,  with 
what  is  new  or  unexpected  ;  I  am  astonished,  at  what  is  vast  or  great ; 
}  am  amazed,  with  what  is  incomprehensible  ;  I  am  confounded,  by 
w  hat  is  shocking  or  terrible.- 

4.  Dcaisly  renounce,  quit,  hart  off .  Each  of  these  words  implies, 
'  ome  pursuit  or  object  relinquished  ;  but  from  different  motives.     \Vc 

iesist,  trom  the  <lifficulty  of  accomplishing.  We  renoumce,  ou  account 
of  the  disagreeableness  of  the  object,  or  pursuit.  We  quit,  for  the 
sake  of  some  other  thing  which  interests  us  more  ;  and  we  leave  oiT, 
because  we  are  weary  of  the  design.  A  politician  desists  from  his  de- 
signs, when  he  finds  they  are  impracticable  ;  he  renounces  the  court, 

uM'ause  he  has  been  affronted  by  it  ;  he  quits  ambition  for  study  or 
retirement  ;  and  leaves  off  his  attendance  on  the  great,  as  he  becomes 
old  and  weary  of  it. 

5.  Pride^vanilr/.  Pridf,  makes  us  esteem  oiusclves  :  vanity,  makes 
\is  desire  the  esteem  of  others.  It  is  just  to  i '  i  ^jwift  has 
done,  that  a  man  is  too  proud  to  be  vain. 

0.  Iluufrhliness,  disdain.  Haughtiness,  is  founded  on  tiie  high  opin- 
io<i  we  entertain  of  ourselves  ;  disdain,  on  the  low  opinion  we  have  of 
others. 

7.  To  dislina;uish,  to  separate.  We  distinguish,  what  we  do  not  want 
to  confound  with  another  thing  ;  we  separate,  what  uo  want  to  remove 
from  it.  Objrcts  are  distinguished  from  one  another,  by  their  qualilies. 
They  are  separated,  by  the  distance  ol  time  or  place. 

8.  To  Jcean/,  tofatig}ie.  The  contiauance  of  the  same  thing  wearie^ 
us;  labour  fatigues  us.  I  am  weary  with  standing;  I  am  fatigued 
with  walking.  A  suitor  wearies  us  by  his  perseverance;  fatigues  us 
by  his  importunity. 

9.  To  abhor,  io  detest.  To  abhor,  imports,  simply,  strong  dislike  ; 
to  detest,  imports  also,  strong  disapprobation.  One  abhors  being  in 
debt  ;  he  detests  treacliery. 


as  it  respects  Precision*  79 

10.  To  invent,  to  discover.  Wc  invent  tliiiig^s  that  are  new  ;  we  dis- 
cover what  was  before  hidden.  Galileo  invented  the  telescope  j  Har- 
vey discovered  the  circulation  of  the  blood. 

11.  Onli/y  alone.  Only,  imports  that  there  is  no  other  of  the  same 
kind  ;  alone,  imports  being^  accompanied  by  no  other.  An  only  child, 
is  one  who  has  neither  brother  nor  sister ;  a  child  alone,  is  one  who  is 
left  by  itself.  There  is  a  difference,  therefore,  in  precise  language, 
betwixt  these  two  phrases,  "  virtue  only  makes  us  happy  ;"  and,  '*  vir- 
tue alone  makes  us  happy."  Virtue  only  makes  us  happy,  imports, 
that  nothing  else  can  do  it.  Virtue  alone  makes  us  happy,  imports, 
that  virtue,  by  itself,  or  unaccompanied  with  other  advantages,  is 
sufficient  to  do  it.     (Coral.  Jlrt.  150.) 

12.  Entire,  complete.  A  thii-g-  is  entire,  by  wanting  none  of  its 
parts  ;  complete,  by  wanting  none  of  the  appendages  that  belong  to 
it.  A  man  may  have  an  entire  house  to  himself;  and  yet  not  have 
one  complete  apartment. 

13.  Tranqxtillity,  peace,  calm.  Tranquillity  respects  a  situation  free 
from  trouble,  considered  in  itself;  peace,  the  same  situation  with  re- 
spect to  any  causes  that  might  interrupt  it ;  calm,  with  regard  to  a 
disturbed  situation  going  before,  or  following  it.  A  good  man  enjoys 
tranquillity,  in  himself;  peace,  with  others;  and  calm,  after  the 
storm. 

14.  A  difficulty,  an  obstacle.  A  difficulty,  embarrasses  ;  an  obstacle, 
stops  us.  We  remove  the  one  ;  we  surmount  the  other.  Generally, 
the  first,  expresses  somewhat  arising  from  the  nature  an<l  circumstan- 
ces of  the  affair  ;  the  second,  somewhat  arising  from  a  foreign  cause. 
Fhilip  tound  difficulty  in  managing  the  Athenians,  from  the  nature  of 
their  dispositions  ;  but  the  eloquence  of  Demosthenes  was  the  greatest 
obstacle  to  his  designs. 

15.  Wisdom,  prudence.  Wisdom,  leads  us  to  speak  and  act  what  i» 
most  proper.  Prudence,  prevents  our  speaking  or  acting  improperly. 
A  wise  man,  employs  the  most  proper  means  for  success;  a  prudent 
man,  the  safest  means  for  not  being  brought  into  danger. 

\i\.  Know^h,  sufficient.  Enough,  relates  to  the  quantity  which  one 
wishes  to  have  of  any  thing;  sufiicicnt,  relates  to  the  use  that  is  to  be 
made  of  it.  Hence,  enough,  generally  imports  a  greater  quantity 
than  sufficie<it  does.  The  covetous  man  never  has  enough;  although 
he  has  what  is  sufficient  for  nature.     (§  VH.  p.  70.) 

17.  To  avow,  to  acknowledge,  to  confess.  Each  of  these  words  im- 
ports the  affirmation  of  a  fact,  but  in  very  different  circumstances.  To 
avow,  supposes  the  person  to  glory  in  it ;  to  acknowledge,  supposes  a 
small  degree  of  fauhiness,  which  the  acknowledgement  compensates; 
to  confess,  supposes  a  higher  degree  of  crime.  A  patriot  avows  his 
opposition  to  a  bad  minister,  and  is  applauded  ;  a  gentleman  ac- 
knowledges his  mistake,  and  is  forgiven;  a  prisoner  confesses  the 
crime  he  is  accused  of,  and  is  punished. 

18.  To  remark,  to  observe.  We  remark,  in  the  way  of  attention,  in 
order  to  remember  ;  we  observe,  in  the  way  of  examination,  in  order 
to  judge.  A  traveller  remarks  the  most  striking  objects  he  sees  ;  a 
general  observes  all  the  motions  of  his  enemy.     (§  /.  p.  f>9.) 

19  Equivocal^  ambiguous.  An  equivocal  expression  is  one  which 
lias  one  s^nse  op«n;  and  designed  to  be  understood :  another  sense 

8 


B(J  Grammatical  Purity,  fyc, 

concealed,  and  understood  only  by  the  person  who  uses  it.  An  anr 
biguous  expression,  is  one  which  has  apparently  two  senses,  and  leaves 
us  at  a  loss  which  of  them  to  give  it.  An  equivocal  cpression,  is 
used  with  an  intention  to  deceive;  an  ambiguous  one,  when  it  is  used 
with  design,  is  with  an  intention  not  to  give  full  information.  An 
honest  man  will  never  employ  an  equivocal  expression  ;  a  confused 
man  may  often  utter  ambiguous  ones,  without  any  design.  I  ihall 
give  only  one  instance  more.     {Art.  113.) 

20.  With,  by.  Both  these  particles  express  the  connexion  between 
some  instrument,  or  means  of  efiecting  an  end,  and  the  agent  who 
employs  it;  but  with,  expresses  a  more  close  and  immediate  connex- 
ion ;  by,  a  more  remote  one.  We  kill  a  man  with  a  sword  ;  he  dies 
by  violence.     The  criminal  is  bound  with  ropes  by  the  exec  :tioner. 

'J'hc  proper  distinction  in  the  use  of  these  particles,  is  elegantly 
marked  in  a  passage  of  Dr.  Robertson's  History  of  Scotland.  When 
one  of  the  old  Scottish  kings  was  making  an  inquiry  into  the  tenure 
by  which  his  nobles  held  their  lands,  they  started  up  and  drew  their 
swords :  *'  By  these,"  said  they,  *'  we  acquired  our  lands,  and  with 
these  we  will  defend  them." — *'  By  these  we  acquired  our  lands,"  sig- 
nifies the  more  remote  n-eans  of  acquisition  by  force  and  martial 
deed;  and,  "with  these  we  will  defend  thcin,"  signifies  the  immediate 
direct  instrument,  the  sword,  which  they  would  emplov  in  their  dc 
fence.     (§  VIJI.  p.  10.) 

Obs.  These  are  instances  of  words  in  our  language,  which, 
less  writers,  are  apt  to  be  employed  as  perfectly  synonymous,  and  yet 
are  not  so.  Their  significations  approach,  but  are  not  precisely  the 
same.  The  more  the  distinction  in  the  meaning  of  such  words  is 
weighed,  and  attended  to,  the  more  clearly  and  forcibly  shall  we 
speak  or  write.* 

•  The  Abbe  Girard's  Synonymes  Francoises,  conlains  a  large  colleotron  of  such  ap- 
parent s>noiiymt^s  in  the  langnapi'.  The  Abbt  s»hous,  with  much  acciiracj.  the  dil- 
iVnuce  in  their  siu^nificaiion.  Nothing:  >\ould  contribute  more  to  precise  and  clepfant 
vritiiic^,  than  attention  to  the  force  of  >voi-ds.and  to  the  several  distinctions  betvixt 
'fprms  accuvnitcd  synonymous  in  our  own  language. 


ON  THE  NATURE  AND  STRUCTURE  OF  SEN- 
TENCES, THE  GENERAL  PRINCIPLES  OF 
PERSPICUITY,  AND  THE  HARMONY  OF 
PERIODS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

OF  THE  NATURE  OF  SENTENCES  AND  PERIODS. 

125.  HITHERTO  we  have  investigated  the  nature  of 
words  detached  and  unconnected,  in  the  same  manner  as 
an  architect  selects  and  prepares  the  materials  of  an  edi- 
lice.  We  are  now,  like  the  same  artist,  to  delineate  the 
plan  of  execution,  or  to  point  out  the  most  proper  conjunc- 
tion and  adaptation  of  the  materials  to  accomplish  the  end 
in  view. 

Obs.  As  the  best  materials  for  building  will  not  form  a  convenient 
and  elesjant  habitation,  unless  they  are  adjusted  on  a  proper  plan,  so 
'  the  purest  and  best  chosen  words  will  not  constitute  a  perspicuous  and 
beautiful  sentence,  unless  they  are  properly  arranged.  But  before  we 
take  up  this  branch  of  the  subject,  it  is  requisite  to  premise  some  ob- 
servations on  the  nature  of  sentences  and  periods,  and  to  unfold  the 
principles  which  should  regulate  their  composition,    (§  IX.  Co?'. p.  69.) 

126.  The  tevm^  sentence  and /?erzoc?  are  nearly  synony- 
mous, both  denoting  the  quality  of  words  or  members  com- 
prehended between  two  full  points,  in  writing  or  printing ; 
and  conveying  a  complete  sense  of  themselves,  independent 
of  the  woL'd:i  that  either  precede  or  follow  them,  [lllus.  £. 
c^r^  ISO  and  139.) 

Illus.  1.  Both  the  sentence  and  the  period  may  consist  of  subdivi- 
sions, clauses,  or  members ;  which  are  commonly  separated  from  one 
another  ;  these  more  closely  connected,  by  commas,  those  more 
slii^htly,  by  semicolons. 

2.  In  every  sentence  or  period,  there  must  be  an  agent,  an  action, 
and  a  subject  on  which  the  agent  operates;  that  is,  in  the  language  of 
grammarians,  there  must  be  a  nominative,  a  verb,  and  an  accusative  ; 
as,  "  Casar  amavit  Juliam,""  "  Alexander  conquered  Darius  ;"  unless 
the  verb  be  of  the  class  called  intransitive,  which  requires  no  subject 
to  act  upon,  the  action  being  exhausted  en  the  agent;  as, "  Cicero  de- 
claiined." 


82  Of  Sentences  and  Periods, 

127.  If  tiiere  be  two  elasses  of  agents,  actions,  and  sub- 
jects in  the  sentence,  one  class  depenclinn;  on  the  other,  the 
sentence  will  consist  of  two  members,  \\  liich  are  conunonly 
separated  from  one  anotiier  by  a  oDninia.  (Illus,  3.  Jlrt. 
130.a/ir/137.) 

Illus.  1.  "  If  Julius  C.-rsar  had  employed  as  much  policy  and  cnier- 
ty  as  Augustus,  he  ini^ht  have  prevented  the  conspiracy  I'ornH'd  ag^ain^t 
his  life." 

128.  If  there  be  three  classes  of  agents,  actions,  and  sub- 
jects, the  sentence  will  coiisist  of  three  members,  separated 
bj  semicolons. 

Illus.  "  If  Julius  Caesar  had  employed  ag  much  policy  and  cruelty 
as  Augustus  ;  if  he  had  proscrihed  erery  suspicious  person  under  his 
j^overnment  J  he  might  have  prevented  the  conspiraiv  formed  against 
his  life." 

129.  If  there  be  four  classes  of  agents,  actions,  and  sub- 
jects, the  sentence  will  consist  \A  four  members,  separated 
by  semicolons. 

Illus.  "  If  Julius  Ca-sar  had  employed  as  much  cruelty  and  policy 
as  Augustus  ;  if  he  had  proscrihctl  every  suspiciouM  person  under  hi.s 
government ;  he  mi^^ht  have  prevented  the  conspiracy  formed  against 
his  life  ;  and  he  might  have  lived,  like  that  Emperor,  to  old  age,  Hat- 
tered,  oheyed,  and  adored  by  the  lloman  people." 

Carol.  llen<e  it  is  apparent,  that  though  the  presence  of  an  agent, 
nn  action,  and  a  subject,  be  requisite  to  constitute  a  member,  yet  they 
do  not  prohibit  th<»  attendance  of  exphinatory  words,  particularly  of 
adjectives  or  participles,  which  denote  some  quality  or  property  of  the 
agent  or  the  sulyect.  Accordingly,  in  the  last  member  of  the  last 
example,  "  he  might  have  lived,  like  that  Emperor,  to  old  age,  flatter- 
ed, obeyctl,  and  a<lored  by  the  Uoman  people  ;"  the  participles ^a^- 
icreili  obfytdy  ailorcil,  encroac  h  not  on  the  unity  of  the  menjber,  but 
tend  merely  to  modify  or  illustrate  its  jirincipal  parts.  ( Ste  Illus.  H. 
Art,  lly.) 

130.  When  a  sentence  contains  one  member  only,  it  is 
called  simple  :  when  it  contains  more  members  than  one, 
it  is  called  coinpkx ;  when  it  contains  three,  four,  or  more 
members,  it  generally  takes  the  name  of  period,  (Art.  130.) 

Illus.  1.  The  ancient  rhetoricians  applied  the  name  of  period  to  all 
complex  sentences,  consisting  of  two  or  more  members,  but  most  fre- 
quently to  those  of  four  members.  '•  liabet,"  says  Quinctilian,  '•  pe- 
riodus  membra  minimum  duo.  iMedins  numerus  videtur  quatuor,  sed 
vecipit  frequenter  et  plnra." 

2.  To  the  p»  riod,  according  to  Cicero,  were  given  the  <li<rerent 
names  o(  amhilus.  circuiluSf  comprtheiisln,  ccntinualio,  circumsrriplio, 
which  seem  all  to  have  been  derived  from  the  Greek  appellation , 
-rrt^tzJ:;. 

3.  To  simple  sentences  were  given  the  names  of  commata,  arliculi^ 
ilicise  ;  the  same  names  by  which  were  denoted  the  members  of  peri- 


Slraditre  of  Complex  J9enfences,  85 

feds  ;  because,  perhaps,  tbey  coincided   with  them,   in  containin"^  an 
agent,  an  action,  and  a  subject. 

131.  Simple  sentencfs  are  best  aflapted  to  express  the 
controversial  and  reprehensive  parts  of  an  oration.  The 
period  is  adapted  to  the  more  splendid  and  pathetic  parts, 
particularly  the  introduction  and  the  peroration. 

132.  A  sentence  is  the  smallest  quantity  of  words  which 
can  express  one  entire  proposition  ;  that  is,  which  can  ex- 
hibit an  agent  as  performing  some  action,  or  which  can  con- 
vey the  affirmation  of  some  truth,     (lllus,  3,  ^Iri,  130.) 

Illus.  If,  for  example,  the  verb  be  intransiti^^e,  and  be  preceded  by 
its  nominative,  a  proposition  will  be  expressed  and  a  sentence  will  be 
formed  ;  because  an  agent  will  be  represented  as  performing-  an  ac- 
tion, and  a  complete  meaning-  will  be  communicated.  "  The  sun  ri- 
ses ;"  *'  the  morning  lowers  ;"  "  1  eat,  drink,  walk,"  he. 

133.  But  if  the  verb  be  transitive,  the  nominative  and 
the  verb  will  not  form  a  sentence,  a  proposition,  or  a  com- 
plete sense  ;  because  a  subject  will  be  wanting  on  v.'hich 
the  action  must  be  exerted. 

Illus.  1.  Thus  the  words,  Cato  killed,  Cicero  banished,  exhibit  in^ 
efficient  actions,  and  incomplete  senses.  They  leave  the  mind  totally 
in  suspense,  till  the  subjects  are  subjoined  on  which  the  actions,  killed, 
and  banished,  are  exerted. 

2.  But  if  we  say,  Cato  killed  himself,  Cicero  banished  Cataline,  we 
present  entire  sentences,  and  communicate  knowledge  and  informa- 
tion, 

o.  Again,  if  1  assert,  "  that  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle  are  enual 
to,"  I  exhibit  an  incomplete  proposition,  m-  an  imperfect  affirmation, 
till  I  add  the  words,  "  two  right  angles,"  which  furnish  an  entire  af- 
iirmation,  and  a  perfect  proposition. 

Coral.  Hence  it  appears  that  the  essence  of  a  sentence  is,  to  convey 
one  proposition,  and  one  only  ;  that  it  generally  contains  an  agent, 
an  action,  and  a  subject,  and  must  contain  an  agent,  and  an  action. 
This  constitutes  what  is  called  the  unity  of  a  sentence.     (Art.  149.) 

134.  In  constructing  complex  sentences,  which  con- 
sist of  different  classes  of  agents,  actions,  and  subjects,  the 
unity  will  be  preserved,  and  only  one  proposition,  with  all 
its  circumstances,  will  be  expressed,  if  such  sentences,  how- 
ever complex,  be  properly  composed.  To  accomplish  this 
end,  the  different  members  of  a  simple  sentence,  or  the  dif- 
ferent classes  of  agents,  actions,  and  subjects,  so  depend  on 
one  another,  that  the  sense  is  not  fully  communicated,  till 
they  are  all  properly  arranged  and  conjoined.  (JirL  133. 
Illus.  3.) 

Illus.  1.  The  following  member,  for  instance,  »'  If  virtue  constitutes 
the  supreme  good,"  conveys  no  complete  sense,  and  the  hearer  con- 
tinues in  suspense,  till  it  is  added,  «  all  wise  men  will  prefer  it  to 

8^- 


84  Of  Senitnces  and  Periods. 

every  other  acquisition  ;"  when  the  sentence,  thus  completed,  exhibits 
two  classes  of  agents,  actions,  and  subjects,  but  contains  only  one  full 
meaning,  or  one  proposition. 

2.  Aj^ain,  "  If  virtue  constitutes  the  supreme  good  ;  if  it  can  com- 
municate the  most  substantial  comfort  and  support  ;"  still  these  two 
members  leave  the  sense  imperfect,  and  the  mind  he>itates,  till  it  is 
added,  "  all  wise  men  will  prefer  it  to  every  other  acquisition;"  thi» 
completes  both  the  proposition  and  the  mcaninfj. 

3.  Tiie  inconclusive  members  may  be  fartiier  augmented  :  "  If  vir- 
tue constitutes  the  supreme  good  ;  if  it  can  communicate  the  most 
substantial  comfort  and  support  ;  if  it  can  procure  the  approbation  of 
all  good  men  in  this  world,  and  the  favour  of  heaven  liereafter  ;''  still 
the  sense  is  incomplete,  till  the  eflicient  njember  is  subjoined,  "  all  wise 
men  will  prefer  it  to  every  other  accpiisition  ;"  which  produces  an  en- 
tire proposition,  fully  satisfies  the  mind,  and  preserves  the  unity  of  the 
period.     (Corol.  Art.  133.) 

Corol.  Frotn  these  observations  it  is  apparent,  that  the  unity  of  a 
sentence  is  not  impaired  by  its  length,  and  that  it  will  naturally  be 
longer  or  shorter  as  the  leading  agent  or  member  is  attended  with 
more  or  fewer  dependent  or  explanatory  agents,  or  members.  No 
more  members  must  ever  be  accumuhttril,  than  are  consistent  with 
unity  and  persj)icuity  ;  but  neither  should  the  meaning  nor  the  cadence 
be  interrupted  by  a  frequent  recurrence  of  abrupt  sentences  of  one  or 
two  members.  The  sense  is  the  main  regulating  princi|)le  of  the 
length,  the  sound  is  only  a  secondary  consideration  ;  if,  however,  the 
former  be  presi-rved,  thf  latter  m.iy  be  consulted,  by  a  variety  of  mod- 
ulation as  great  as  possible.     (iScholium,  Art.  13vS  ) 

135.  Short  sentences  impart  animation  antl  ener;;y  to 
style.     They  are  contrasts  to  periods^  tlicy  are  simple  and 

erspicuous,  and  the  ideas  which  they  convey  are  usually 
ivcly,  forcible,  or  di^Lcnitled.  They  are  also  employed 
chiefly  to  deliver  maxims  of  wisdom  and  sublime  senti- 
ments, which,  8uppoi1ed  by  their  natural  importance  and 
elevation,  spurn  the  pomp  and  ornaments  of  language,  (.^rt, 
142.) 

Obs.  The  intermediate  fenteoces  of  two  or  tliree  r. embers  parti(  i- 
pate  the  vivaciiy  of  short  sentences,  or  the  force  and  cadence  of  peri- 
ods, accort'ing  as  hey  approach  nearer  to  the  one  or  the  other.  Their 
business  is  to  convey  the  greater  part  of  the  sentiments  which  occur 
in  the  course  of  a  long  work,  and  which  can  be  neither  very  lively  nor 
\Qry  forcible. 

136.  All  complex  sentences  are  not  equally  connected, 
nor  are  their  Piembers  etjually  dependent  on  one  another. 
The  members  are  often  conjoined  by  a  simple  copulation, 
and  the  relation,  in  respect  of  meaning,  amounts  to  little 
more  than  juxta-position.  They  coi.tain  dit!erent  views  of 
the  same  thought  ;  or  the  succeeding  members  explain,  il- 
lustrate, extend,  or  restrict  the  preceding.     (.'Irt,  134.) 

Illur.  The  following  example  will  elucidate  these  remarks.     **  Ev,tp~ 


r; 


The  Structure  of  complex  Sentences.  85 

ty  one  is  in  some  measure  master  of  the  art  which  is  generally  di.stin- 
g;iiished  by  the  name  of  physiognomy,  and  naturally  forms  to  himself 
the  characteror  fortune  of  a  stranger, from  the  features  and  lineaments 
of  his  face."*  Expunge  the  copulative,  resume  the  agent  every  one, 
and  two  complete  sentences  will  appear  ;  so  loose  is  the  connection. 
(SecArt.Vli.) 

137.  Sentences,  also,  which  contain  the  correspondent 
conjunctions,  seldom  admit  more  than  two  members.  (See 
Art.  Ii37.) 

Example.  '•  As  the  secrets  of  the  Ugly  Club  were  exposed  to  the 
public,  that  men  might  see  there  were  some  noble  spirits  in  the  world, 
w  ho  were  not  displeased  with  themselves  upon  considerations  they  had 
no  choice  in  ;  so  the  discourse  concerning  idols  tended  to  lessen  the 
value  wliich  people  put  upon  themselves  for  personal  accomplishments, 
and  gifts  of  naturef."  The  reader  need  not  be  told,  that  the  conjunc- 
tions here  are,  as  and  so. 

138.  The  full  period  of  several  members  possesses 
most  dignity  and  modulation,  and  conveys  also  the  greatest 
degree  of  force,  by  admitting  the  closest  compression  of 
thought.     The  members  are  generally  conditional,  and  de 
note  supposition  or  contrast. 

Jilus.  ].  By  supposition  is  understood,  that  the  preceding  members 
furnish  a  foundation,  on  which  the  conclusion  is  built  :  or  that  they 
operate  as  a  climax,  by  which  it  is  raised  to  the  highest  elevation. 

2.  By  contrast  is  understood,  that  the  preceding  members  are  oppo- 
sed to  the  concluding  member,  which,  notwithstanding,  possesses  such 
energy,  that  the  contrast  takes  place  with  irresistible  elTect. 

3.  if,  besides,  such  periods  are  properly  constructed  ;  if  the  mem- 
bers are  so  formed,  as  to  swell  one  above  another  in  sound,  as  well  as 
in  sentiment  ;  the  impression  will  become  so  exceedingly  powerful,  ais 
not  to  escape  the  most  inattentive  observer. 

Example  I.  Cicero  supplies  a  beautiful  period  of  the  former  species, 
in  his  oration  for  the  Manilian  law.  ''  Quare  cum  et  helium  ita  neces- 
sarium  sit,  ut  ncglegi  non  possit  ;  ita  magnum,  ut  accuratissime  sit 
administrandum  ;  et  cum  si  imperatorem  praisicere  possitis,  in  quo  sit 
eximia  belli  scientia,  singularis  virtus,  clarissima  auctoritas,  egregia 
fortuna  ;  dubitabitis,  Quiritcs,  quin  hoc  tantum  boni,  quod  vobis  a  Uiis 
immortalibus  oblatum  et  datum  est,  in  rempublicain  conservandani 
utque  amplincandam  conferatis." 

///^^9.  The  members  present  a  striking  gradation  in  the  sentiment. 
Tiie  war  is  absolutely  necessary,  and  of  great  magnitude  ;  Fompey  is 
the  greatest,  the  bravest,  the  most  successful  general  ;  he  must  there- 
fore be  preferred,  to  secure  the  favour  of  the  gods,  and  the  safety  of 
the  empire.  An  analogous  elevation  is  discernable  in  the  sound.  The 
members  rise  above  one  another,  both  in  length  and  modulation.  The 
pleasure  of  the  car  powerfully  concurs  to  recommend  and  impress  the 
sense. 

Example  2.  The  subsequent  period  will  supply  an  example  of  the 
latter  species.    '<  Though  the  people  should  riot,  and  project  insuj;- 

•  Addljon.  t  I  bid. 


86  Of  Errors  to  he  avoided 

rection  ;  though  the  tyrant  shou'xl  rage,  and  threaten  destruction  ;. 
though  tlu,-  huriiiune  should  lay  open  the  bed  of  ih*-  sea,  and  the 
earthquake  shoulu  tear  the  globe  in  piece?  ;  though  tf:e  «rars  should 
fail  from  iheir  spheres,  and  the  frame  of  nature  should  be  dissoivcil  ; 
yet,  according  to  Horace,  Virtue  will  protect  her  votaries,  and  the 
good  nmn  will  remain  tranquil  amid  the  ruins  of  the  world." 

Jlius.  A  similar  gradation  is  perceptible,  as  in  the  preceding  in- 
stance. The  members  increase  both  in  extent  and  cadence.  The 
rising  series  of  contrasts  convey  inexpressible  dignity  and  energy  to 
the  conclusion. 

ScUolium.  The  proper  union  of  sentences,  also,  is  a  matter  of  con- 
siderable importance  to  the  efi'ect  of  a  composition.  It  seems,  indeed, 
to  be  difficult,  if  not  impracticable,  to  assign  any  rules  relative  to  the 
proper  intermixture  of  sentences  expressive  of  strong,  or  even  of 
uioderate  passion,  as  feelings  on  such  occasions  supersede  all  the  dic- 
tates of  the6ry,  and  the  considerations  of  sound.  (Illus.  Art.  73.)  But 
in  grave  and  extended  compositions,  where  the  chief  aim  of  the  author 
is  to  instruct  and  amuse,. the  practice  best  supported  by  reason  and 
experience,  is,  to  intermix  short,  long,  and  intermediate  sentences,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  introduce  as  great  variety  as  possible  of  caden- 
ces. Great  care,  however,  must  be  taken  to  conceal  all  attention  to 
art.  If  it  become  apparent,  it  disgusts  the  reader,  and  generally  loses 
its  eflect.  The  species  of  sentence  preferred  by  the  writer  should  al- 
ways seem  to  be  the  most  proper  and  natural  he  could  have  employ- 
ed. Its  length  sliould  be  determined  always  by  the  .sense,  ;  ' 
the  puuctuation.     (Illus.  Corol.  and  Art.  14T.) 


CHAPTER  IL 

OF    THE    EUHOIIS    TO     BE    AVOIDED     IX    THE    STRUCTURE    OF 
SENTENCES,  AND  THE  ARRANGEMENT  OF  SINGLE  WORDS. 

139.  WE  derive  little  light  from  the  names,  amhituSy 
clrcviluSy  comprehcnsio,  circurnscriptioy  eraployed  by  Cicero, 
and  approved  by  Quinctilian,  as  definitions  of  a  period. — 
These  names  are  manifestly  derived  from  the  Greek  term 
'rrspiodos;  and  the  Latin  critics  have  not  ventured  to  proceed 
faither  than  their  masters.     (Illus.  2.  Jrt.  130.) 

Obs.  Without  having  recourse  to  the  meaning  of  a  period,  or  the 
species  of  dependence  that  subsists  among  its  members,  to  explain  its 
nature,  thej'  have  been  satisfied  with  some  indefinite  speculations 
about  its  length,  and  the  artificial  measure  in  which  it  ought  to  be 
composed.  They  tell  us,  it  should  seldom  exceed  the  length  of  four 
hexameter  verses,  or  require  more  time  to  pronounce  it  than  is  re- 
quisite for  one  L;omplete  respiration  of  a  full-grov.n  man.*  But  the 
practice  of  the  most  perfect  orators  of  antiquity  frequently  trans- 
gresses these  rules. 

*  Cic.  Orat.  chap.  66.  Quinct,  iib.  IX.  dwp.  4. 


in  the  Arrangement  of  PFords,  8f 

140.  If  two  or  more  leading  thouglits  or  agents,  which 
nave  no  natural  relation  to  one  another,  nor  any  depen- 
dence on  one  another,  and  which  concur  not  in  pointing 
toward  any  one  object,  are  introduced  into  a  sentence,  they 
will  destroy  its  unity.  This  is  a  frequent  and  gross  error 
in  the  structure  of  sentences. 

Example.  "  As  much  as  the  fertile  mould  is  fitted  to  the  tree,  as 
much  as  the  strong  and  upright  trunk  of  the  oak  or  elm  is  fitted  to  the 
twining  branches  of  the  vine  or  ivy,  so  much  are  the  very  leaves, 
the  seeds,  and  the  fruits  of  these  trees  fitted  to  the  various  animals  ; 
these,  again,  to  one  another,  and  to  the  elements  where  they  live,  and 
fo  whicli  they  are  as  appendices,  in  a  manner,  fitted  and  joined  ;  as 
either  by  wings  for  the  air,  fins  for  the  water,  feet  for  the  earth,  and 
by  other  correspondent  inward  parts,  of  more  curious  frame  and 
texture."* 

Illus.  This  long  and  involved  period  presents  two  agents  ;  trees  lead 
the  first  member,  animals  the  second  and  the  third.  It  should,  there- 
fore, it  seems,  be  divided  into  two,  or  perhaps  three  sentences,  with 
the  proper  agents  prefixed.  In  this  view,  the  first  member  may 
remain  as  it  is,  but  the  second  and  third  members  will  assume  the 
following  appearance.  *'  Animals,  again,  are  fitted  to  one  another, 
and  to  the  elements  where  they  live,  and  to  which  they  are  as  appen- 
dices. They  are  adapted  by  wings  for  the  air,  fins  for  the  water,  feet 
for  the  earth,  and  by  other  correspondent  inward  parts,  of  move 
curious  frame  and  textUre." 

141.  Errors  are  frequently  committed  in  the  extent  of 
periods,  which  are  sometimes  swelled  to  too  great  length ; 
at  other  times  formed  too  short  or  abrupt. 

Obs.  A  long  period,  perfectly  clear  and  well  constructed,  is  always 
beautilul  and  pleasant,  if  it  be  not  so  prolonged  as  to  exhaust  the 
patience  and  attention  of  the  reader.  But  it  is  extremely  difficult  to 
compose  such  periods  ;  and,  for  this  reason,  a  great  many  of  them  aie 
ungraceful  and  obscure. 

142.  It  is,  perhaps,  more  necessary  at  present,  to  remon- 
strate against  a  deviation  to  the  opposite  extrenjc.  The 
style  of  many  of  our  present  writers  is  too  short  and  abrupt. 
(^rt,  135.) 

Tllus.  An  aflectation  of  sprightliness,  or  of  oracular  wisdom,  seems 
to  have  infected  some  of  our  autliors,  and  to  have  tempted  them  to 
employ  that  laconic  diction,  which  is  very  current  with  our  neigh- 
hours,  the  FixMich,  and  which  is  generally  supposed  most  correspon- 
dent to  tiiis  species  of  con)position.  The  appearance  of  such  a  style, 
is,  however,  no  symptom  of  the  general  corruption  of  the  public  taste 
and  ear.  But  wiien  we  recollect  the  progress  and  revolutions  of 
literature,  both  in  Athens  and  Home,  we  cannot  be  too  quick-sighted 
in  apprehending  danger.  The  manner  of  the  authors  who  succeeded 
tb^-  most  flourishiiijr  {era  of  the  Grecian  eloquence,  undoubtedly  dis- 
played the  strongest  attachment  to  this  mode  of  style  ;  and  many  of 

♦ShaftcibBrj. 


v^S  Of  Errors  to  be  avoided 

the  most  conspicuous  writers  of  Rome,  posterior  to  the  Augustan  age  j 
furnish  examples  of  the  same  kind  of  composition. 

143.  The  arrangement  of  the  agent,  the  action,  and 
the  SUBJECT,  the  chief  in;^redients  in  all  members,  senten- 
ces, and  periods,  is  almost  invariable.  The  agent  appears 
first,  the  action  succeeds,  and  the  subject,  if  there  be  one, 
takes  its  station  last. 

lllns.  If  the  agent  or  the  subject  be  modified  or  illustrated  by  ad- 
jectives, or  the  action  be  extended  or  restricted  by  adverbs,  the 
dependent  words  assume  their  stations  in  juxta-position  to  their  prin- 
cipals, the  adjertives  to  their  substantives,  and  the  adverbs  to  their 
verbs.  The  adjective  is  placed  before  its  corresponilcnt  substantive, 
when  it  has  no  circumstance  d**pendin{^  on  it ;  but  it  is  situated  after 
its  substantive  when  it  is  followed  by  some  modification.  ''  A  wise 
man."  "  A  good  book."  "  A  spacious  apartment."  But  we  say, ''  A 
man  wise  for  himself."  "  A  book  good  for  amusement."  '*  An  apart- 
ment convenient  for  company."  Adverbs  generally  follow  neuter, 
but  precede  active  verbs.  ''  Caesar  fought  bravely."  "  Pompey  rashly 
engaged  him  at  Pharsalia."  Our  adjectives  have  no  ir.llexions,  and 
therefore  can  be  arranged  only  on  the  principle  of  juxta-position. 
(§//./;.  67.) 

144.  Though  in  every  member  of  a  sentence,  there  must 
be  an  agent,  an  action,  and  a  subject,  unless  the  action  be 
intransitive;  there  are  to  be  found  in  manj  members  two, 
in  some  three,  classes  of  agents,  actions,  and  subjects,  that 
explain,  restrict,  or  otherwise  depend  on  the  primary  class, 
by  which  the  member  is  discriminated. 

Example.  "  It  is  usual,"  says  Addison,^  -'  for  a  man  who  loves 
country-sports,  to  preserve  the  game  on  his  own  grounds,  and  divert 
himself  on  the  grounds  of  his  neighbours.  My  friend  Sir  Roger 
generally  goes  two  or  three  miles  from  his  own  house,  and  gets  into 
the  frontiers  of  his  estate  before  he  beats  about  for  a  hare  or  a  par- 
tridge, on  purpose  to  spare  his  own  fields,  where  he  is  alwa3's  sure  of 
finding  diversion,  when  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst." 

Illiis.  In  the  former  of  these  sentences,  there  is  one  class  only  of 
agents,  actions,  and  subjects,  *•  A  man  who  loves  country-sports  ;" 
but  there  are  no  fev/er  than  three  such  classes,  in  the  first  clause  of 
the  latter  sentence :  "  Sir  Roger  generally  goes  two  or  three  miles  ; 
he  gets  into  ihe  frontiers  ot  his  esta;e,  before  he  beats  about  for  a 
hare  or  a  partrid;^e."  These  dependent  classes,  like  dependent  words, 
adjectives,  nnd  adverbs,  are  arranged  on  the  princi))le  of  juxta  posi- 
tion, a>  Mcar  to  the  primarv  cl'^iss  as  is  consistent  with  the  intimacy  oi 
their  relation.     (Illii^.  Jhl.  143.) 

145.  Of  the  arrctti^eriient  of  the  other  parts  of  speech,. 
pronouns,  parliciples,  prepositions  and  conjunctions,  no 
directions  can  be  given,  that  will  not  be  liable  to  many  ex- 
ceptions.   The  following  principles  seem  to  include  every 

Spectator,  No.  X3I. 


in  the  Arrangement  of  Words,  89 

RS^lvlnch  can,  with  any  confidence,  be  advanced  on  the 
subject. 

Illus.  X.  Pronouns  have  no  other  use  in  language,  but  to  represent 
nouas;  anct,  trf  course,  they  are  cdl6:imonly  called  to  occupy  the  sta- 
tions of  the  nouns  they  represent.  They  should,  theicfore,  be 
mar:.hal'ed  aj^reeably  to  the  stations  in  which  their  principals  would 
appear.     (§F/.  /?.  68,  and  Jirt.  71.) 

2.  The  chief  office  of  prepositions,  is,  to  denote  the  relations  of 
sub>:tantives  to  one  another ;  they  are,  therefore,  placed  generally 
between  the  related  objects,  immediately  before  the  one  that  bears 
the  relation,  and  as  near  as  possible  to  the  other,  to  which  the  relation 
is  borne.  '<  A  man  of  virtue."  ''  Success  to  industry."  "Genius  with 
judgment." 

3.  Participles,  in  general,  assume  the  situation  of  adjectives,  of  the 
nature  of  which  they  very  much  partal*e  ;  but  they  are  also  employed 
frequently  to  introduce  clauses  dependent  on  preceding  verbs.  '•  A 
loving  father."  "  A  learned  man."  "  He  passed  through  life,  adored 
by  his  friends,  and  respected  by  all  good  men."     (Jllns.  2.  £rl.  59.) 

4.  Conjunctions  are  often  introduced  to  connect  single  substantives, 
but  more  commonly  to  conjoin  clauses  of  sentences.  From  their 
nature  they  require  a  situation  between  the  things  of  which  they  form 
an  union.     (jSrt.  72.) 

5.  The  interjection,  finally,  in  a  grammatical  sense,  is  totally  un- 
connected with  every  other  word  in  a  sentence.  Its  arrangement,  of 
course,  is  altogether  arbitrary,  and  cannot  admit  of  any  theory. — 
(Art.  73.) 

6.  If  two  adverbs  attend  upon  a  single  verb,  one  significant  of  place 
or  time,  the  other  of  some  modification  of  the  verb,  the  former  is 
generally  situated  before  the  verb,  the  latter,  more  intimately  connect- 
ed with  the  verb,  is  placed  immediately  after  it,  to  the  exclusion  even 
of  the  subject,  when  some  circumstance  depends  upon  the  subject. 
"  Caesar  often  reprehended  severely  the  ingratitude  of  his  enemies." 
"  He  every  where  declared  publicly  his  inclination  to  preserve  the 
constitution  of  his  country."     (JJrt.  70.) 

7.  If  one  auxiliary  attend  a  verb,  along  with  one  adverb,  the  adverb 
is  generally  placed  between  the  auxiliary  and  the  verb.  <*  Folly  has 
always  exposed  her  author."  *'  Wealth  may  often  make  friends,  but 
can  never  produce  true  peace  of  mind." 

8.  If  there  be  two  auxiliaries,  the  adverb  is  commonly  situated 
between  them.  "  He  should  certainly  have  come."  "}'.>•  might  easily 
have  known,"  In  passive  sentences,  however,  the  adverb  is  v)lace(l 
after  both  the  auxiliaries;  as,  "  He  will  be  uncommonly  agitated." 
'•  I  shall  be  completely  ruined."     (^^rt.  70.  Ilhis.  5.) 

9.  If  there  be  throe  auxiliaries,  when  the  sentence  must  again  be 
passive,  the  adverb  is  placed  after  them  all.     ^'  I  might  have  been    ' 
better  informed."     "Me  might  havo  been  completely  educated  in  that 
branch  of  science."     "It  should  have  been  well  authenticated." 

10.  If  two  adverbs,  with  two  auxiliaries,  attend  upon  the  same  verb, 
the  adverbs  will  be  ii)termixed  with  the  auxiliaries.  "  !  have  always 
been  much  embarrassed  by  these  inconveniences."  "  He  can  never 
be  sincerely  disposed  to  promote  peace."  "  He  might  at  least  have 
plainly  told  him." 

11.  In  the  arrangement  of  two  or  more  prepositions,  the  relation  of 
concomitance  seems  to  be  the  most  intimate,  and,  therefore,  takes  th«^ 


90  On  the  Slrudurc  of  Sentences, 

preccdoMcy  of  all  others,  <'  Ho  went  with  him  to  France;  he  camr 
with  him  tVoni  Home  ;  h«*  lived  with  him  at  Naples,  and  fought  with 
him  in  J'Undcrs  ;  he  contended  with  him  for  fame,  but  foui,ht  with 
him  ai:;^ainst  his  enemies."  The  relation  denoted  by  from,  precedes 
that  si;;-nified  by  to.  "  He  came  from  Home  to  Paris,  and  from  Paris 
to  London."  *'  From  a  bcc^innin^^  very  nnpromisinir,  he  rose  to  jjreat 
influence  and  wealth.'  "  Society  procce<ls  from  barbarity  to  refine- 
ment, from  ijrnorance  to  knowledge,  from  wealth  to  corruption,  and 
from  corruption  to  ruin."' 

Scholium.  Thcjie  prinriples  arc  supported  by  the  practice  of  our 
purest  writers.  It  is  our  dnty,  therefore,  to  form  our  style  on  the 
most  correct  models  before  us,  if  wo  wcidd  avoid  that  fluctuatint^  and 
unsettled  imitation  which  is  observable,  when  the  ear  is  onr  chief  j^uide, 
and  its  dictates  are  always  variable,  not  seldom  whimsical.  In  a  mat- 
ter of  so  much  coiise(4uence,  we  may,  it  seems,  follow  with  most  con- 
fidence the  example  of  tne  beSt  writers  and  speakers,  explained  and 
supported  by  the  analogies  of  graiftmar  and  of  f»erspicuity.    (Jrt.  80.) 


CHAPTER  III. 

O.N    11:1.   hlULrn  UI.  OF  SEXTENCES. 

140.  THOUGH  PKUspirun  Y  be  the  general  liead  uiitler 
which  we  are  at  present  cohsi(lerin«i;  language,  we  shall  not 
confine  ourselves  to  this  quality  alone,  in  aentences,  hut  in- 
«[uire  also,  what  is  requisite  for  their  ^r«re  and  beauty. 

Ohs.  Aristotle  defines  a  sentence  to  be  a  form  of  speech  which  hath 
u  beginning  and  an  end  wiihin  itself,  and  is  of  such  a  length  as  to  be 
easily  comprehended  at  onee/*  This,  however,  admits  of  a  great 
latitude.  For  a  sentence,  or  period,  consists  always  of  component 
parts,  which  are  called  ifn  memhcrs  ;  and  as  thc«e  mem>>crs  may  be 
either  few  or  many,  and  may  l)e  connected  in  several  diilerent  ways, 
the  same  thought,  or  mental  proposition,  may  often  be  either  brought 
into  one  sentence,  or  split  into  two  or  three,  without  the  material 
breach  of  any  rule,     (,'lrt.  14\.  and  142.) 

147.  The  first  variety  that  occurs  in  the  consideration  of 
sentences,  is,  the  distinction  of /o/]^'- and  .s/ior/ <»nt^s.  The 
precise  length  of  sentences,  as  to  tlie  number  of  words,  or 
the  number  tif  members,  which  may  enter  into  them,  can- 
not be  ascertained  by  any  definite  measure.  At  the  same 
tinte,  it  is  obvious,  tliat  liiere  may  be  an  extreme  on  either 
side. 

lUus.  Sentences,  immoderately  long,  nnd  consisting  of  too  many 
members,  always  transgress  some  one  or  other  of  the  rules  which  are 
necessary  to  be  observed  in  every  good  sentence.    In  discourse.*  that  are 

*  A«|if  t^'^m  »{;);»"  **^  Tihwrnf  Kx9'  3Lvryif,Kxi  /uiryiSo:  rjTUfMrnf. 


On  the  Structure  of  Senientes,  9 1 

to  be  spoken,  regard  must  be  had  to  the  easiness  of  pronunciation, 
which  is  not  consistent  with  too  long- periods.  In  compositious  wh'nc 
pronunciation  has  no  place,  still,  however,  by  using  long^  pi-riods  loo 
frequently,  an  author  overloads  and  fatigues  the  reader's  attention. 
For  long  periods  require,  evidently,  more  attention  than  short  ones,  in 
order  to  perceive  clearly  the  connection  of  the  several  parts,  and  to 
take  in  the  whole  at  one  view.  At  the  same  time,  in  too  many  short 
sentences,  also,  there  may  be  an  excess,  by  which  the  sense  is  split  and 
broken,  the  connection  of  thought  weakened,  and  the  memory  burden- 
ed, bv  presenting  to  it  a  long  succession  of  minute  objects.  (Obs.  2. 
Art.  148.) 

Corol.  According  to  the  nature  of  the  composition,  therefore,  and 
the  general  character  it  ought  to  bear,  the  one  or  other  may  be  pre- 
dominant. But,  in  almost  every  kind  of  composition,  the  great  rule 
is  to  intermix  them.  For  the  attention  tires  of  either  of  them  when 
too  long  continued  :  whereas,  it  is  gratified  by  a  proper  mixture  of 
long  and  short  periods,  in  which  a  certain  sprightlines.^  is  joined  with 
jnajesty  of  style.  "  Jt  is  not  proper  always  to  employ  a  contimied 
train,  and  a  sort  of  regular  compass  of  phrases  )  but  style  ought  to  be 
often  broken  down  into  smaller  members."" 

148.  This  variety  is  of  so  great  consequence,  that  it 
must  be  studied,  not  only  in  the  succession  of  long  and 
short  sentences,  but  in  the  structure  of  either  species  of 
these  sentences. 

Illus.  1.  A  train  of  sentences,  constructed  in  the  same  manner,  and 
with  the  same  number  of  members,  wh  'ther  long  or  short,  should 
never  be  allowed  to  succeed  one  another.  However  musical  each  of 
them  may  be  to  a  reader,  it  has  a  better  etfect  to  introduce  even  a 
discord,  than  to  cloy  the  ear  with  the  repetition  of  similar  sounds  :  for, 
nothing  is  so  tiresome  as  perpetual  uniformity.  (Art.  116.  Illus.  1^2. 
Crit.  I.  and  U) 

>  149.  The  properties  most  essential  to  a  perfect  sentence, 
seem  to  be  the  f.nir  foUowing :  1.  Clearness  and  precision. 
£.  Unity.  3.  Strength.  4.  Harmony.  Each  of  these  we 
shall  illustrate  separately,  and  at  some  length. 

Illas.  The  least  failure  in  clearness  and  pre<;ision,  which  we  con- 
sider the  first  essential  properties  to  a  perfect  sentence,  the  least  de- 
gree of  ambiguity,  which  leaves  the  mind  in  any  sort  of  suspense  as  to 
the  meaning,  ought  to  be  avoided  with  the  greatest  care  ;  nor  is  it  so 
easy  a  matter  to  keep  always  clear  oi  this,  as  one  might,  at  first,  ima- 
gine. Precision  has  already  been  considered  ;  we  shall  here  consider 
ambiguity  as  it  arises  either  f»om  a  wrong  choice  oi  words,  or  a  wrong 
collocation  of  them,  [n  Chapter  IV.  this  subject  will  be  handled  in  its 
most  extensive  significati.Ju. 

Corol.  Hence  a  capital  rule  in  the  arr.mgeraent  of  sentences  is,  that 
the  words  or  members  mo>!t  nearly  related,  i^hould  be  placed  in  the 
sentence,  as  near  to  each  other  as  possible  ;  so  as  to  make  their  mu- 
tual relation  clearly  appear.  This  is  a  rule  not  always  observed  as 
gtrictly  as  it  ought  to  be,  even  by  good  writers.     It  will  be  necessary 

•  "  Nmi  St  niper  utendum  est  pt  rpetuitate,  et  quasi  conversione  vevborum  ;  sed 
laepe  carpenda  raembris  minutioiibus  ovatio  est."    Cicero. 

9 


92  On  the  Structure  of  Sentences. 

to  produce  some  instances,  which  will  both   shew   the  importance  0»'. 
this  rule,  and  make  the  application  of  it  understood.     (Art.  121.) 

150.  First,  in  the  position  of  adverbs,  whicli  are  used  to 
qualify  the  signification  of  something  that  either  precedes 
or  follows  them,  there  is  often  a  good  deal  of  nicety.  (Jirt, 
121.  and  lUus.) 

lUas.  "  The  Romans  understood  liberty,  at  least,  as  well  as  we.'**" 
'These  words  are  capable  of  two  different  senses,  according  as  the  em- 
phasis, in  reading  them,  is  laid  upon  liberty,  or  upon  at  least.  In  the 
first  case,  they  will  signify,  that  whatever  other  things  we  may  under- 
stand better  than  the  Romans,  liberty,  at  least,  was  one  thing  which 
they  understood  as  well  as  we.  In  the  second  case,  they  will  import, 
that  liberty  was  uni  vrstood  at  leajt  as  well  by  them  as  by  us  ;  mean* 
ing,  that  by  them  it  was  better  understood.  If  this  last^as  I  make  no 
doubt,  was  Dean  Swifts  own  meaning,  the  ambiguity  would  have  been 
avoided,  and  the  sense  rendered  independent  of  the  manner  of  pro- 
nouncing, by  arranging  the  words  thus  :  "  the  Romans  understood 
liberty,  as  well,  at  least,  as  we."     (Art.  70.  Illus.  5.) 

Carol.  With  respect,  then,  to  such  adverbs,  as,  only,  uholly,  at  leastj 
and  the  rest  of  that  tribe,  which  we  use  in  common  discourse,  the  tone 
and  emphasis  with  wjtjich  we  pronounce  them,  generally  serve  to 
shew  their  reference,  and  to  make  their  meaning  clear  ;  and  hence,  we 
acquire  a  habit  of  throwing  th'^m  in  loosely  in  the  course  of  a  period.. 
But,  in  writing,  where  a  man  speaks  to  the  eye  and  not  to  the  ear,  he 
ought  to  be  more  accurate  ;  and  so  to  connect  those  adverbs  wiih  the 
words  which  they  qualify,  as  to  put  his  meaning  out  of  doubt  upon  the 
first  inspection.     (Illus.  il.  J]rt.  124.) 

151.  Secondly,  When  a  circumstance  is  interposed  iu 
the  middle  of  a  sentence,  it  sometimes  requires  attention 
how  to  place  it,  so  as  to  divest  it  of  all  ambiguity. 

Illus.  *■'■  Are  these  designs,  which  any  man,  who  is  born  a  Briton,  in 
any  circumstances,  in  any  situation,  ought  to  be  ashamed  or  afraid  to 
avow  .'"t  Here  we  are  left  at  a  loss,  whether  these  M-ords,  "  in  any 
circumstances,  in  any  situation,''  arc  connected  with  "  a  man  born  in 
Britain,  in  any  circumstances,  or  j»ituaiion,"  or  with  that  man'.s 
<^<  avowing  his  designs,  in  any  circumstances,  or  situation  into  which 
he  may  be  brought  .^"  If  the  latter,  as  seems  most  probable,  was  in- 
tended to  be  the  meaning,  the  arrangement  ought  to  have  been  con- 
ducted thus  :  "  Are  these  designs,  which  any  man  who  is  born  a 
Briton,  ought  to  be  ashamed  or  af  aid  to  avow  in  any  circumstances, 
in  any  situation  .'"     But, 

152.  Thirdly,  Still  more  attention  is  required  to  the  pro- 
per disposition  of  the  relative  pronouns,  whoy  ivhich,  whaty 
whose,  and  of  all  those  particles  which  express  the  connex- 
ion of  the  parts  of  speech  with  one  another.  As  all  reason- 
ing depends  upon  this  connexion,  we  cannot  here  be  too  ac- 
curate and    precise.     A  small   error  may   overcloud   the 

*  Swift*^  Project  for  the  Advancemi  nt  of  Rcligiofa. 
t  BoUugbx-oke's  Dissert,  on  Parties.- 


The  Position  of  Adverbs  and  Pronouns,  93 

meaning  of  the  whole  sentence ;  and  even  where  the  mean- 
ing is  intelligible,  if  these  relative  particles  be  out  of  their 
proper  place,  we  always  find  something  avvkv/ard  and  dis* 
jointed  in  the  structure  of  the  sentence. 

Illus.  1.  "  This  kind  of  wit  was  very  much  in  vogue  among  our 
countrymen,  about  an  agre  or  two  ago,  who  did  not  practice  it  for  any 
oblique  reason,  but  purely  for  the  sake  of  being  witty."*  We  are  at 
no  loss  about  the  meaning  here  ;  but  the  construction  would  evidently 
be  mended  by  disposing  of  the  circumstance,  ^*  about  an  age  or  two 
ago,"  la  such  a  manner  as  not  to  separate  the  relative  who  from  its 
antecedent  our  counlrymen.  Thus,  "  about  an  age  or  two  ago,  this 
kind  of  wit  was  very  much  in  vogue  among  our  countrymen,  who  did 
oot  practice  it  lor  any  oblique  reason,  but  purely  for  the  sake  of  beinjr 
wittv."  -"  ^ 

_2.  Of  the  lik«  nature  is  the  following  inaccuracy  of  Dean  Swift, 
He  IS  recoramending  to  young  clergymen  to  write  their  sermons  fully 
and  distmctly.  "  Many,"  says  he,  •'  act  so  directly  contrary  to  this 
wit^thod,  that  from  a  habit  of  saving  time  and  paper,  which  they  ac- 
quired ai  tU^  university,  they  write  in  so  diminutive  a  manner,"  th«*. 
they  can  iia.d,!-^  «--^  what  they  have  written."     He  certainly  does  not 

Ihlt  ;Uv  had  aVQm;e«'';^'''rXr'7  -'  ^^^^^  *^^  ^^-  university,  but 
mar  iney  naa  atquireu  n..^  u^.*  ofcavnigboth  time  anc.  ^..,,  _  i^^  . 

and  therefore  his  words  ought  to  have  run  in«=, .       x- ^  habit  whicli 

they  have  acquired  at  the  university  of  saving  time  and  paper,  n.^-^ 
write  in  so  diminutive  a  manner." 

Scholia.  Several  other  instances  might  be  given  ;  but  those  which 
We  have  produced  may  be  sufficient  to  make  the  rule  understood. 

I.  Namely,  that  in  the  construction  of  sentences  one  of  the  first 
things  to  be  attended  to,  is,  the  marshalling  of  the  words  in  such  order 
as  shall  most  clearly  mark  the  relation  of  the  several  parts  of  the  sen- 
tence  to  one  another. 

Particularly,  that  adverbs  shall  always  be  made  to  adhere  closely  to 
the  words  which  they  are  intended  to  qualify. 

II.  That,  where  a  circumstance  is  thrown  in,  it  shall  never  hang 
loose  in  the  midst  of  a  period,  but  be  determined  by  its  place  to  one 
or  other  of  the  members  in  that  period. 

III.  And  that  every  relative  word  which  is  used,  shall  instantly 
present  its  antecedent  to  the  mind  of  the  reader,  without  the  least 
©bscurity. 

In  these  three  cases  j^re  contained  some  of  the  most  frequent  occa- 
Kions  of  ambiguity  creeping  into  sentences.  {But  see  Chapters  IV,  F, 
VI,  VH,  and  Vlll,  of  this  book.) 

153.  With  regard  to  relatives,  we  must  farther  observe, 
that  obscurity  often  arises  from  the  too  frequent  repetition 
of  them,  particularly  of  the  pronouns  i^/io,  and  Mey,  and 
them,  and  theirs,  when  we  have  occasion  to  refer  to  different 
persons. 

Illns.  1.  "  Men  look  with  an  evil  eye  upon  the  good  that  is  in  oth- 
ers ;  and  think  that  their  reputation  obscures  them,  and  their  corn- 
mendable  qualities  stand    in  their  light ;  and  therefore  they  d**    wh«t 

*  S^eclottr,  No.  54. 


y4  On  the  Structure  of  Sentences. 

they  can  to  cast  a  cloud  over  them,  that  the  bright  shining  of  thcii- 
▼irtucs  may  not  obscure  them.'  * 

This  is  altogether  careless.writrng .  It  renders  style  often  obscure, 
always  embarrassed  and  inelegant.  When  we  find  these  personal 
pronouns  crowding  too  fast  upon  us,  we  have  often  no  method  left, 
but  to  throw  thi' whole  sentence  into  some  other  form,  which  may 
avoid  those  frequent  references  to  persons  who  have  before  been  men- 
tioned. 

2.  All  languages  are  liable  to  ambiguities.  Qumctdian  gives  us 
some  instances  in  the  Latin,  arising  from  faulty  arrangements.  A 
mm,  he  tells  us,  ordered,  by  his  will,  to  have  erected  for  him,  after 
bis  death,  "  Statuam  auream  hastam  tenentem  ;"  upon  which  arose  a 
dispute  at  law,  whether  the  whole  statue,  or  the  spear  only,  was  to  be 
of  gold .' 

3.  The  same  author  observes,  very  properly,  that  a  sentence  is  al- 
ways faulty,  when  the  collocation  of  the  words  is  ambiguous,  thout^h 
the  setise  can  be  gathered  If  any  one  should  say,  "  Chremetem  au- 
divi  percussise  Deineam;"  this  is  ambiguous,  both  in  sense  and  struc- 
ture, whether  Chremes  or  Demea  gave  the  blow. 

CoroL   Hence,  to  have  the  relation  of  every  word  and  member  ot  a 
senton...  nrulud   in  (he  ino.t  proper  and  cUtj^n-'   —;;•-';>  ^ 
;;  .;.,ciirnu»»»-» *^-5  «*«'"ro  part. 

154.  Unity  is  the  second  quality  of  a  well -arranged  sen- 
tence. This  is  a.  capital  property.  In  cveiy  compositi(»n, 
of  whatever  kind,  some  degree  of  unity  is  required,  in  or- 
der to  rendei'  it  beautiful.  Tliere  must  be  always  some 
connecting  principle  among  the  parts.  Some  one  object 
must  reign  and  be  predominant. 

Obs.  This  holds  in  history,  in  epic  and  dramatic  poetry,  and  in  all 
orations.  But  most  of  all,  in  a  single  sentence,  is  required  the  strict- 
est unity.  For  the  very  nature  of  a  sentence  implies  one  proposition 
to  be  expressed.  It  may  consist  of  parts,  indeed;  but  these  parts 
must  be  so  closely  bound  together,  as  to  make  upon  the  mind  the  im- 
pression of  one  object,  not  of  many.  Now,  in  order  to  preserve  this 
unity  of  a  sentence,  the  following  rules  hiust  be  observed. 

155.  In  the  first  place,  during  the  course  of  the  sentence, 
the  scene  should  be  changed  as  little  as  possible.  We 
should  not  be  hurried  by  sudden  transitions  from  person  to 
person,  nor  from  subject  to  subject.  There  is  commonly, 
in  every  sentence,  sotne  person  or  thing,  that  is  the  govern- 
ing woril.  This  should  be  contin^ied  so,  if  possible,  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  sentence. 

Illus.  Should  1  express  myself  thus:  '' After  we  came  to  anchor, 
they  put  me  on  shore,  where  I  was  welcomed  by  all  my  friends,  who 
received  me  with  the  greatest  kindness."  Though  the  objects  con- 
tamed  in  this  sentence,    have  a  sufficient  connection  with  each  other. 

*  Tillotson,  VoL  I.  Serni.  42» 


Wnity. 


95 


vcl,  by  this  raanner  of  representing^  them,  by  shifting  so  often  both  the 
jplace  and  the  person,  we,  and  ility,  and  /,  and  who,  they  appear  in 
Such  a  disunited  view,  that  the  sense  ol"  the  sentence  is  ahnost  lost. 
The  sentence  is  restored  to  its  proper  unity,  by  turning-  it  after  the 
following-  manner:  "  Having- come  to  an  anchor,  I  was  put  on  shore, 
whefe  I  was  welcomed  by  all  my  friends,  and  received  with  the  great- 
est kindness."  Writers  wiio  transgress  this  rule,  for  the  most  part 
transgress,  at  the  same  time, 

156.  A  second  rule;  never  crowd  into  one  sentence, 
things  which  have  so  little  connection,  thatthey  could  bear 
to  be  divided  into  two  or  three  sentences.  The  violation  of 
this  rule  never  fails  to  injure  the  style,  and  displease  the 
reader.  Its  eftect,  indeed,  is  so  disagreeable,  that  of  the 
two,  it  is  the  safer  extreme,  to  err  rather  by  too  many  short 
sentences,  than  by  one  that  is  overloaded  and  embarrassed. 

Illus.  1.  Examples  abound  in  our  own  authors.  We  shall  produce 
some,  to  justify  what  we  have  said.  "Archbishop  Tillotson,"  says 
an  Author  of  the  History  of  England,  "  died  in  this  year.  He  was 
exceedingly  beloved  both  by  King  William  and  Queen  Mary,  who 
nominated  Dr.  Tennison,  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  to  succeed  him."  Who 
would  expect  the  latter  part  of  this  sentence  to  follow,  in  consequence 
of  the  former  ^  **  He  was  exceedingly  beloved  by  both  King^  and 
Queen,"  is  the  proposition  of  the  sentence  :  we  look  for  some  proof 
of  this,  or  at  least  something  related  to  it,  to  follow  ;  when  we  are  on 
a  sudden  carried  off  to  a  new  proposition,  <^who  nominated  Dr.  Ten- 
nison to  succeed  him." 

2.  The  following  is  from  Middleton's  Life  of  Cicero  :  ''  In  this  un- 
easy state,  both  of  his  public  and  private  life,  Cicero  was  oppressed 
bv  a  new  and  cruel  affliction,  the  death  of  his  beloved  daughter  Tul- 
lia  ;  which  happened  soon  after  her  divorce  from  Dolahella,  whose 
manners  and  humours  were  entirely  disagreeable  to  her."  The  prin- 
cipal object  in  this  sentence  is,  the  death  of  Tullia,  which  was  the 
cause  of  her  father's  affliction  ;  the  date  of  it,  as  happening  soon  after 
her  divorce  from  Dolahella,  may  enter  into  the  sentence  with  proprie- 
ty; but  the  subjiuiction  of  Dolabella's  character  is  foreign  to  tiie  main 
object,  and  totally  breaks  the  unity  and  compactness  of  the  sentence, 
by  setting  a  new  picture  before  the  reader.     (Jirt.  149.) 

3.  The  following  sentence,  from  a  translation  of  Plutarch,  is  still 
worse:  speaking  of  the  Greeks  under  Alexander,  the  author  says, 
^*  Their  march  was  through  an  uncultivated  country,  whose  savage 
inhabitants  fared  hardly,  having  no  other  riches  than  a  breed  of  lean 
sheep,  whose  llesh  was  rank  and  unsavory,  by  reason  of  their  contin- 
ual feeding  upon  sea-fish."  Here  the  scene  is  changed  upon  us  again 
and  again.  The  march  of  the  Greeks,  the  description  of  the  inhabitants 
through  whose  country  they  travelled,  the  account  of  these  people's 
riches  lying  wholly  in  sheep,  and  the  cause  of  their  sheep  being  ill- 
tasted  food,  form  a  jumble  of  objects,  slightly  related  to  each  other, 
which  the  reader  cannot,  without  much  difficulty,  comprehend  under 
one  view.     {Cor.  Jirt.  149.) 

157.  A  third  rule,  for  preserving  the  unity  of  sentences, 
is,  to  avoid  all  parentheses  in  the  middle  of  them.       ft^ume 

9* 


96  On  the  Structure  of  Sentences. 

4. 

occasions,  they  may  have  a  spirited  appearance  ;  as  pranrp- 
ie:(\  by  a  certain  vivacity  of  thought,  which  cah  glance  liap- 
pi!y  aside,  as  it  is  going  along.     {Art.  1 87*) 

Ohs.  For  the  most  part,  their  eft'ect  is  not  always  spPrited  :  nay, 
sometimes  it  is  extremely  bad.  They  seem  a  sort  of  wheels  within 
wheels;  sentences  in  the  midst  of  sentences;  the  perplexed  method  of 
disposing  of  some  thfuiuht,  which  a  writer  wants  art  to  introduce  in 
its  proper  place.  It  were  needless  to  give  any  instances,  as  they  oc- 
cur so  often  among  incorrect  writers. 

158.  The  fourth  and  last  rule  for  the  unity  of  a  sentence, 
is,  to  bring  it  always  to  a  full  and  perfect  close.  Every 
thing  that  is  one,  should  have  a  beginning,  a  middle  and  an 
end.  An  unfinished  sentence  is  no  sentence  at  all,  accor- 
ding to  any  grammatical  rule. 

Obs.  But  we  very  often  meet  with  sentences,  that  are,  so  to  speak, 
more  than  finisijed.  When  we  have  arrived  at  what  we  experJed  was* 
to  be  the  conclusion,  when  we  are  come  to  the  word  on  which  the 
mind,  by  what  went  before,  is  naturally  led  to  rest  ;  unexpectedly^ 
«ome  circiunstance  appears,  which  ought  to  have  been  omifted,  or  to- 
have  been  disposed  of  elsewhere  ;  but  which  is  left  lagging  behind, 
like  a  tail  adjected  to  the  sentence.  This  looks  to  the  rhetorician's 
cyo,  as  docs  to  the  naturalist's  the  prodigious  tail  which  the  rude  hand 
«f  early  astronomy  has  given  to  the  constellation  Ursa  Major. 

159.  The  third  quality  of  a  correct  sentence,  is 
STRENGTH.  By  tliis  is  meant  such  a  disposition  of  the  sev- 
eral words  and  members,  as  shall  brinj^  out  the  sense  to  the 
!)est  advantage ;  as  shall  render  the  impiession  which  the 
period    is  designed    to  make,  most  full  ami    complete;  and 

tive  every  word,  and  every  member,  its  due  weight  and 
)rce.     {Example,  Mrt,  173.) 

Obs.  The  two  former  qualities  of  perspicuity  and  unity,  are,  no 
doubt,  absolutely  necessnry  to  the  production  of  this  effect';  but  more 
is  still  requisite.  For  a  sentence  may  be  clear  enough,  it  mav  also  be 
compact  enough  in  all  its  parts,  or  have  the  retpiisite  unify  ;  and  yet, 
by  some  unfavourable  circumstance  in  the  structure,  it  may  fail  in 
that  strength  or  liveliness  of  impression  which  a  more  happy  «rrano-e- 
ment  would  have  produced. 

160.  The  first  rule  for  promoting  the  strength  of  a  sen- 
fence,  is,  to  divest  it  of  2l\\  redundant  \\ovi\s.  These  may, 
sometimes,  be  consistent  with  a  considerable  degree  both  of 
clearness  and  unity  ;  but  they  are  always  enfeeblin"-.  (See 
Art.\2\.)  "  ^      ^ 

Illus.  It  is  a  general  maxim,  that  any  words  which  do  not  add  some 
importance  to  the  meaning  of  a  sentence,  always  spoil  it.  They  can- 
not be  superfluous,  without  being  hurtful.  All  that  can  be  easily  sup- 
pliel  in  the  mind,  is  better  left  out  in  the  expression.  Thus:  "  Content 
with  delerviDg  a  triumph,  he  refused  the  honor  of  it,"  is  better  lart 


Sire77gtL  97 

foage    than  to  say,  ''Being  content  with  deserving-  a  triumph,   he 
refused  the  honor  ofit." 

Carol.  One  of  the  most  useful  exercises  of  correction,  upon  review- 
ing what  we  ha/e  written  or  composed,  is  therefore  to  contract  that 
round-about  method  of  expression,  and  to  lop  off  those  useless  ex- 
crescences which  are  commonly  found  in  a  first  draught.  Here  a 
severe  eye  should  be  employed  ;  and  we  shall  always  fmd  our  senten- 
ces acquire  more  vigour  and  energy  when  thus  retrenched  ;  provi- 
ded always,  that  we  run  not  into  the  extreme  ofpruniug  so  very  close, 
as  to  give  a  hardness  and  dryness  to  style.  For  here,  as  in  all  other 
things,  there  is  a  due  medium.  Some  regard,  though  not  the  princi- 
pal, must  be  had  to  fulness  and  swelling  of  sound.  Some  leaves  must 
be  left  to  surround  and  shelter  the  fruit. 

161.  As  sentences  should  be  cleared  of  redundant  words^ 
so  also  of  redundant  members.  As  every  word  ought  to 
present  a  new  idea^  so  every  member  ought  to  contain  a 
7ieiv  thought.  Opposed  to  this,  stands  the  fault  with  which 
we  sometimes  meet,  of  the  last  member  of  a  period  being 
nothing  else  than  the  echo  of  the  former,  or  the  repetition 
ofit  in  a  dift'erent  form.     For  example  ;  speaking  of  beauty, 

lllns.  Mr.  Addison  says,  *'  The  very  first  discovery  ofit,  strikes  the 
mind  with  inward  joy,  and  spreads  delight  through  all  its  faculties^-."^ 
And  elsewhere,  *'  It  is  impossible  for  us  to  beliold  the  divine  works 
with  coldness  or  indifference,  or  to  survey  so  many  beauties,  without  a 
secret  satisfaction  and  complacency +."  In  both  these  instances,  little 
or  nothing  is  added  by  the  second  member  of  the  sentence  to  what 
was  already  expressed  in  the  first  :  and  though  the  free  and  flowing 
manner  of  such  an  author  as  Mr.  Addison,  and  the  graceful  harmony 
of  his  periods,  may  palliate  such  negligences  ;  yet,  in  general,  it  holds, 
that  style,  freed  from  this  prolixity,  appears  both  more  strong  and 
more  beautiful.  The  attention  becomes  remiss,  the  mind  falls  into 
inaction,  when  words  are  multiplied  without  a  corresponding  multi- 
plication of  ideas.     (See,  Cril.  1.  and  2.  p.  71.) 

16:2.  After  removing  superfluities,  the  second  rul?  for 
promoting  the  strength  of  a  sentence,  is,  to  attend  particu- 
larly to  the  use  of  copulatives,  relatives,  and  all  the  particles 
mployed  for  transition  and  connection, 

Illus.  These  little  words,  hiit^  and,  ivhich,  ichose,  ichcre,  Sec.  are  fre- 
quently the  most  important  words  of  any  ;  they  are  the  joints  or  hin- 
ges upon  which  all  sentences  turn,  and,  of  course,  much,  both  of  the 
gracefulness  and  the  .strength  of  sentences,  must  depend  upon  the 
proper  use  of  such  particles.  The  varieties  in  using  them  are,  indeed, 
so  numerous,  that  no  particular  system  of  rules  can  be  given  respect- 
ing them  Attention  to  th«  practice  of  the  most  accurate  writers, 
joined  with  frequent  trials  of  the  different  effects  produced  bv  a  dif- 
ferent usage  of  those  particles,  must  here  direct  us.  (^rt.  145.  ///w.<f. 
1—11.)  ^ 

163.  A\hat  is  called  splitting  of  particles,  or  separating 

*  Spectator,  No.  4i2.  t  IWd.  No.  413'. 


$8  On  the  Structure  of  Sentenced, 

a  preposition  from  the  noun  which  it  governs,  is  always  te 
be  avoided.     (Jilus.  II.  Jirt,  145.) 

Illus.  '•  Though  virtue  borrows  no  assistance  from,  yet  it  may  ofteii 
be  accompanied  by,  the  advamag-es  of  fortune."  In  pronouncing  this 
instance  ne  feel  a  sort  of  pain  from  the  revulsion,  or  violent  separa- 
tion of  two  things,  which  by  their  nature,  should  be  clostly  united. 
W(»  are  put  to  a  stand  in  thought  ;  being  obliged  to  rest  for  a  little  on 
the  preposition  by  itself,  which,  at  the  same  time,  carries  no  signifi- 
cancy,  till  it  is  joined  to  its  proper  substantive  noun. 

164.  Some  writers  needlessly  multiply  demonstrative 
and  relative  particles,  by  the  frequent  use  of  such  phraseol- 
ogy as  the  following: 

Jllus.  **  There  is  nothing  which  disgusts  us  sooner  than  the  empty 
pomp  of  language."  In  introducing  a  subject,  or  laying  down  a  pro- 
position  to  which  we  demand  particular  attention,  this  sort  of  style  is 
very  proper  ;  but  in  the  ordinary  current  of  discourse,  it  is  better  to 
express  ourselves  more  simply  and  shortly  :  '*  ^iothing  disgusts  us 
sooner  than  the  empty  pomp  of  language." 

165.  Other  writers  make  a  practice  of  omitting  the  rela- 
tive, by  adopting  a  pliraseology  of  a  difterent  kind  fron"^  the 
former.  This  error  springs  from  the  absurd  supposition 
that,  without  this  omission,  the  meaning  could  not  be  under- 
stood. 

Illus.  *'  The  man  I  love." — "  The  dominions  we  possessed,  and  the 
conquests  wf  made  "  But  though  this  elliptical  style  be  intelligible, 
and  allowable  in  conversation  and  epistolary  writing,  yet  in  nil  wri- 
tings of  a  serious  ordiirnified  kind,  it  is  ungraceful.  There,  the  rela- 
tive should  always  be  inserted  in  its  proper  place,  and  the  construc- 
tion filled  up  :  as,  "  The  man  whom  I  love.  ' — "  Tlie  dominions  which 
we  possessed,  and  the  conquests  which  we  made." 

16G.  With  regard  to  the  copulative  particle,  and,  which 
occurs  so  frequently  in  all  kinds  of  composition,  several  ob- 
servations are  to  be  made.  First,  it  is  evident,  that  the  un- 
necessary repetition  of  this  particle  enfeebles  style.  It  has 
much  the  same  effect  as  the  frequent  use  of  the  vulgar 
phrase,  and  so,  when  one  is  telling  a  story  in  common  con- 
versation. 

Illus.  1.  We  shall,  for  one  instance,  take  a  sentence  from  Sir  Wil- 
liam Temple,  lie  is  speaking  of  the  retlnement  of  the  French  lan- 
guage :  "  The  acadenjy  set  up  by  Cardinal  Richelieu,  to  amuse  the 
wits  of  that  age  and  country,  and  to  divert  them  from  raking  into 
his  politics  and  ministry,  brought  this  into  vogue  ;  and  the  French 
wits  have,  for  this  last  age,  been  wholly  turned  to  the  refinement  of 
their  style  and  language;  and,  indeed,  with  such  success,  that  it  can 
hardly  be  equalled,  and  runs  equally  through  their  verse  and  their 
prose."  Here  are  no  fewer  than  eight  amis  in  one  sentence.  This 
agreeable  writer  too  often  makes  his  s.miences  drag  in  this  manner, 
by  a  careless  multiplication  of  copulatives. 


&trengtL  m 

'■1.  It  is  strange  that  a  writer  so  accurate  as  Deaw  Sv.ift,  should 
nave  stumbled  m\  so  improper  an  application  of  this  particle,  as  he 
has  made  in  the  following  sentence :  '^  There  is  no  talent  so  useful  to- 
wards rising  in  the  world,  or  which  puts  men  more  out  of  the  reach 
of  fortune,  than  that  quality  generally  possessed  by  the  dullest  sort  of 
people,  and  is,  in  common  language,  called  discretion  ;  a  species  of 
lower  prudence,  by  the  assistance  of  which,"*  &.c.  By  the  insertion 
of,  and  is,  in  place  of,  which  is,  he  has  not  only  clogged  the  sentence^ 
but  even  macle  it  ungrammatical. 

167.  But,  in  the  next  place,  it  is  worthy  of  observation, 
that  though  the  natural  use  of  the  conjunction,  and,  be  to 
join  objects,  and  thereby  make  their  connection  tiiore  close  } 
yet,  in  fact,  by  dropping  the  conjunction,  we  often  mark  a 
closer  connection,  a  quicker  succession  of  objects,  than 
Avhen  it  is  inserted  between  them. 

Illus.  1.  Long^inu-s  makes  this  remark;  which,  from  many  instances, 
appears  to  be  just :  "  Veni,  vidi,  vici,"t  expresses  with  more  spirit 
the  rapidity  and  quick  succession  of  conquest,  than  if  connecting' 
particles  had  been  used. 

2.  So,  in  the  following  description  of  a  rout  in  Caesar's  Commen- 
taries, the  omission  of  the  connective  particle  gives  great  force  to 
the  sentence :  "  Nostri,  emissis  pilis,  gladiis  rem  gerunt ;  repente 
post  tergum  equitatus  cernitur  ;  cohortes  alia;  appropinquant.  Hostes 
terga  ;  vertunt;  fugientibus  eqnites  occurrunt ;  fit  magna  caedes."t 
Bell.  Gall.  lib.  7. 

168.  On  the  other  hand,  when  we  seek  to  prevent  a 
quick  transititm  from  one  object  to  another — when  we  are 
making  some  enumeration  in  which  we  wish  that  the  objects 
should  appear  as  distinct  from  each  other  as  possible,  and 
that  the  mind  should  rest,  for  a  moment,  on  each  object  by 
itself,  copulatives  may  be  multiplied  widi  peculiar  advan- 
tage and  grace. 

flliis.  As  when  Lord  Bolingbroke  says,  "  Such  a  man  might  fall  a 
victim  10  power;  but  truth,  and  reason,  and  liberty  would  fall  with 
him." 

In  the  same  manner,  Caesar  describes  an  engagement  with  the  Ner- 
vii:  "His  equitibus  facile  pulsis  ac  proturbatis,  incredibile  celeritat^ 
ad  flumen  decurrerunt;  ut  pene  uno  tempore,  et  ad  sylvas,  et  in 
flumine,  et  jam  in  manibus  nostris,  hostes  viderentur."§  Bell.  Gall.  1.  2. 

Here,  although  he  is  describing  a  quick  succession  of  4'vents,  yet  a.& 
it  is  his  intention  to  shew  in  how  many  places  the  enemy  seemed  to 
be  at  one  time,  the  copulative  is  very  happily  redoubled,  in  order  to 
paint  more  strongly  the  distinction  of  these  several  places. 

*  Essay  on  the  Fates  of  Clere^ymeii.  t"  I  came,  I  saw,  I  conquered." 

t  "  Ouv  men.  after  having  discharged  their  javelins,  attack  with  swoixl  in  hand ; 
of  a  sudden  the  cavalry  uuike  their  appearance  behind;  other  bodits  of  m.  n  are 
seen  drav.  i/ig  near ;  the  enemies  turn  th<ir  backs ;  the  horse  meet  them  in  their 
fliiflu  ;  a  £!,Teat  slaughti  r  ensues." 

f  •  Th  •  enemy,  hoving  ca-'ily  beat  oS"  and  scattt  red  this  body  o^  horse,  ran  down 
with  ii,ci-e(iihle  celeiUy  to  the  river,  so  that,  almost  .'?t  one  moment  of  lime,  they 
appeared  to  be  in  the  WQQds,^5ud  in  the  river,  and  iu  the  midst  of  our  troops." 


lOd  0n  the  JSkrueture  of  Sentences, 

Scholia.  This  attention  to  the  several  cases,  when  it  is  proper  t« 
omity  and  when  to  redouble  the  copulative^  is  of  considerable  impor- 
tance to  all  who  study  eloquence.  For  it  is  a  remarkable  particularity 
in  language,  that  the  omission  of  a  connecting  particle  should  some- 
times serve  to  make  objects  appear  more  closely  connected  :  and  that 
the  repetition  of  it  should  distinguish  and  separate  them  in  some 
measure  from  each  other.  Hence,  the  omission  of  it  is  used  to  denote 
rapidity  ;  and  the  repetition  of  it  is  designed  to  retar<l  and  to  aggra« 
vate.  The  reason  seems  to  be,  that,  in  the  former  case,  the  mind  is 
supposed  to  be  hurried  through  a  quick  succession  of  objects,  without 
gaining  leisure  to  point  out  their  conn<'ction  ;  it  drows  the  copulative 
in  its  hurry;  and  crowds  the  whole  series  together,  as  if  the  obj.dg 
were  but  one.  Whereas,  when  we  enumerate,  with  a  view  to  agjjra- 
Tate,  the  mind  is  supposed  to  proceed  with  a  more  slow  and  solemn 
pace  ;  it  marks  fully  the  relation  of  each  object  to  that  which  succeeds 
it;  and  by  joining  them  together  with  several  copulatives,  makes  us 
perceive,  that  the  objects,  though  connected,  are  yet,  in  themselves, 
distinct  ;  that  they  are  many,  not  one.  Observe,  for  instance,  in  the 
following  enumeration  made  by  the  apostle  Paul,  u-hat  additional 
weight  and  distinctness  are  given  to  each  particular  by  the  rcpotr- 
tion  of  a  conjunction.  "  I  am  persuaded  that  neither  death,  nor  life, 
nor  angels,  nor  principalities,  nor  powers,  nor  things  present,  nor 
things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any  other  creature,  shall 
he  able  to  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God."**  So  much  with  regard 
to  the  use  of  copulatives. 

169.  A  third  rule  for  promoting  tlte  strength  of  a  sentence, 
is,  to  dispose  of  the  capital  word,  or  words,  in  that  place  of 
the  sentence  where  it  or  thej  will  make  the  fullest  impres- 
sion. 

Ilhis.  Every  one  must  see,  that  there  are  in  every  sentence  such 
capital  words,  on  which  the  meaning  principally  rests;  and  it  is 
equally  plain,  that  these  words  should  possess  a  conspicuous  and  dis- 
tinguished place.  But  that  place  of  the  sentence  where  they  will  make 
the  best  figure,  whether  the  beginning  or  the  end,  or  sometimes,  even 
the  middle,  cannot  perhaps  be  ascertained  by  any  precise  rule.  This 
must  vary  with  the  nature  of  the  sentence. 

170.  Perspicuity  must  ever  be  studied  in  the  first  place, 
and  the  nature  of  our  language  allows  no  great  liberty  in 
the  choice  of  collocation.  For  the  most  part,  with  us,  the 
important  words  are  placed  in  the  beginning  of  the  sentence. 

Illus.  ''The  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  taken  in  their  full  extent, 
«re  not  so  gross  as  those  of  sense,  nor  so  refined  as  those  of  the  under- 
standing."t  And  this,  indeed,  seems  the  most  plain  and  natural  order, 
to  place  that  in  the  front  which  is  the  chief  object  of  the  proposition 
we  are  laying  down.  Sometimes,  however,  when  we  intend  to  give 
weight  to  a  sentence,  it  is  of  advantage  to  suspend  the  meaning  for  a 
tittle,  and  then  bring  it  out  full  at  the  close  :  "  Thus,"  says  Pope,  "  on 
whatever  side  we  contemplate  Homer,  what  principally  strikes  us,  is 
kis  wonderful  invention. "|: 

*  Horn.  viii.  3".  39.        t  Arfdjswh       t  Prefticc  to  }l6Jn^\  ^ 


Sirengitt.  lOi 

171.  The  Greek  and  Latin  writers  had  a  considerable 
advantage  above  us,  in  this  part  of  style.  By  the  great 
liberty  of  inversion,  which  their  languages  permitted,  they 
could  choose  the  most  advantageous  situation  for  every 
word  ;  and  had  it  thereby  in  their  power  to  give  their  sen- 
tences more  force. 

Obs,  Milton,  in  his  prose  works,  and  some  other  of  our  old  English 
writers,  endeavour  to  imitate  them  in  this.  But  the  forced  construc- 
tions which  they  employed,  produced  obscurity  ;  and  the  genius  o,f 
our  language,  as  it  is  now  written  and  spoken,  will  not  admit  such 
iiberties.  Gordon,  who  followed  this  inverted  style,  in  his  translation 
of  Tacitus,  has,  sometimes,  done  such  vi9lence  to  the  language,  as 
even  to  appear  ridiculous  ;  as  in  this  expression  :  **  Into  this  hole 
thrust  themselves,  three  Roman  senators."  He  has  translated  se 
simple  a  phrase  as,  "  Nullum  ed  tempestate  helium,"  by,  '*  War  at 
that  time  there  was  none." 

172.  However,  within  certain  bounds,  and  to  a  limited 
degree,  our  language  does  admit  of  inversions ;  and  they 
are  practised  with  success  by  the  best  writers. 

We  shall  just  glance  at  one  example  here,  as  inversion  will  be  treated 
subsequently  to  harmony.     (See  Chapter  X.) 

llLus.  Pope,  speaking  of  Homer,  says,  *'  The  praise  of  judgment 
Virgil  has  justly  contested  with  him,  but  his  invention  remains  yet 
unrivalled."  It  is  evident,  that,  in  order  to  give  the  sentence  its 
due  force,  by  contrasting  properly  the  two  capital  words,  "judgment 
and  invention,"  this  is  a  happier  arrangement  than  if  he  had  followed 
the  natural  order,  which  was,  "  Virgil. has  justly  contested  with  him 
the  praise  of  judgment,  but  his  invention  remains  yet  unrivalled." 

Obs.  Some  writers  practise  this  degree  of  inversion,  which  our 
language  bears,  much  more  than  others;  Lord  Shaftesbury,  for  in- 
stance, much  more  than  Mr.  Addison  :  and  to  this  sort  of  arrangement, 
is  owing,  in  a  great  measure,  that  appearance  of  strength,  dignity^ 
and  varied  harmony,  which  Lord  Shaftesbury's  style  possesses. 

173.  But  whether  we  practise  inversion  or  not,  and  ia 
whatever  part  of  the  sentence  we  dispose  of  the  capital 
words,  it  is  always  a  point  of  great  momerit,  that  these  cap- 
ital words  shall  stand  clear  and  disentangled  from  any  other 
words  that  would  clog  them. 

lllus.  Thus,  when  there  are  any  circumstances  of  time,  place,  or 
other  limitations,  which  the  principal  object  of  our  sentence  requires 
to  have  connected  with  it,  we  must  take  especial  care  to  dispose  of 
them,  so  as  not  to  cloud  that  principal  object,  nor  to  bury  it  under  a 
load  of  circumstances. 

Example,  Lord  Shaftesbury,  spea^^ing  of  modern  poets,  as  compar- 
ed with  the  ancient,  says  :  "  If,  whilst  they  profess  oniy  to  please,  they 
secretly  advise,  and  give  instruction,  they  may  now,  perhaps,  as  well 
as  formerly,  be  esteemed,  with  justice,  the  best  and  most  honourable 
among  authors."  This  is  a  well  constructed  sentence.  It  contains  a 
great  many  circumstances  and  adverbs,  necessary  to  qualify  ihc 
pi|?aning  ;  only^  secretly  f  noiCf  perhaps^  as  vjellf  formerly,  with  justice. 


10i2  On  the  Structure  of  Sentences. 

yet.  these  are  placed  with  so  much  art,  as  neither  to  embarrass  nor 
weaken  the  sentence  ;  while  that  which  is  the  capital  object  in  it,  viz 
''  Poets  being  justly  esteemed  the  best  and  most  honourable  among 
authors,*"  convis  out  in  the  conclusion  clear  and  detached,  and 
possesses  its  proper  place, 

174.  A  fourth  rule  for  constructing  sentences  with  pro- 
per strength,  is,  to  make  the  members  of  them  go  on  rising 
and  growing  in  their  importance  above  one  another. 

Illus.  This  sort  of  arrangement  is  called  a  climax,  and  is  always 
considered  as  a  beauty  in  composition.  From  what  cause  it  pleases, 
is  abundantly  evident.  In  all  thing>,  we  naturally  love  to  ascend  to 
what  is  more  and  more  beautiful,  rather  than  to  follow  the  retrograde 
ord.^r.  Having  had  once  some  considerable  object  set  before  us,  it  is, 
with  pain,  we  are  pulled  back  to  attend  to  an  inferior  circum^Jtance. 
**  Care  must  be  taken  that  our  composition  shall  not  fall  off,  and  that 
a  weaker  expression  shall  not  follow  one  of  more  strength  ;  as  if,  after 
sacrilege,  we  should  bring  in  theft  ;  or,  having  mentioned  a  robbery, 
we  should  subjoin  petulance.  Sentences  ought  always  to  rise  aod 
grow."* 

2.  Of  this  beauty,  in  the  construction  of  sentences,  the  orations  of 
Cicero  furnish  many  examples.  His  pompous  manner  naturally  led 
him  to  study  it ;  and,  generally  in  order  to  render  the  climax  perfect, 
he  makes  both  the  sense  und  the  sound  rise  together,  with  a  very 
magnificent  swell. 

3.  '1  he  following  instance  from  Lord  Bolingbroke,  is  beautiful  ; 
''This  decency,  this  grace,  this  propriety  of  manners  to  character,  is 
so  essential  to  princes  in  partirular,  that,  whenever  it  is  neglet  ted, 
their  virtues  lose  a  great  degree  of  lustre,  and  their  defects  acquire 
much  aggravation.  Nay,  more  ;  by  neglecting  this  decency  and  thi-s 
grace,  and  for  want  of  a  sutrulent  regard  to  appearances,  even  their 
virtues  may  betray  them  into  failings,  their  failings  into  vices,  and 
their  vices  into  habits  unworthy  of  princes,  and  unworthy  of  mcn.*'t 

175.  This  sort  of  full  and  oratorical  climax,  can  neither 
be  always  obtained,  nor  ought  it  to  be  always  soua;ht  after. 
Only  some  kinds  of  writing  admit  such  sentences;  and  to 
study  them  too  frequently,  especially  if  the  subject  do 
not  require  much  pomp,  is  affected  and  disagreeable.  But 
when  sentences  are  approach'.no;  to  a  cliniax,  the  following 
is  a  general  rule  which  we  ought  to  study. 

Illus.  1.  A  weaker  asseruon  or  proposition  should  never  come  after 
a  strong«-i  one  ;!  and  when  our  sentence  consists  of  tv\o  members,  the 
longest  .should,  generally,  be  the  concluding  one.  There  is  a  two-lold 
reason  for  this  last  direction.  Periods  thus  divided,  are  pronounced 
more  easily  ;  and  the  shortest  member  being  placed  first,  we  carry  it 
more  readily  in  our  memory  as  we  proceed  to  the  second,  and  see  the 
connection  of  the  two  more  clearly.     Thus,  to  say,  "  when  our  pas- 

*  "  Cftvendum  est  ne  decrescat  orotic,  et  fortiori  subjungatur  aliquid  infirmius ; 
sicut.  sac rilrerio-  fur;  aut  latruni  petulans.  Augeri  tnim  debtut  seiucntix  tt  iniuv- 
gt^re  "    Quiiictil'an. 

t  Idea  of  a  Patriot  King'. 

t  "Ne  decrescat  oratio,  et  ne  fortiori  wbjungatur  aliquid  infirmius."    Quinct . 


Sirengtlu  103 

5  ons  liave  forsaken  us,  we  flatter  ourselves  with  the  belief  that  we 
have  forsaken  them,"  is  both  more  graceful  aiid  more  clear,  than  to 
begin  with  the  longest  part  of  the  proposition,  and  say  :  "  VVe  flatter 
ourselves  with  the  belief  that  we  have  forsaken  our  passions,  when  they 
have  forsaken  us." 

2.  In  general,  it  is  always  agreeable  to  find  a  sentence  rising  upon 
us,  and  growing  in  its  importance  to  the  very  last  word,  when  tliis 
construction  can  be  managed  without  affectation  or  unseasonable 
pomp.  *'  If  we  rise  yet  higher,"  says  Addison,  \ery  beautifully,  "  and 
consider  the  fixed  stars  as  sa  many  oceans  of  flame,  that  are  each  of 
them  attended  with  a  different  set  of  planets  ;  and  still  discovv  r  new 
firrhaments  and  new  lights,  that  are  sunk  farther  in  those  unfathoma- 
ble depths  of  aether  ;  we  are  lost  in  such  a  labyrinth  of  suns  and 
worlds,  and  confounded  with  the  magnificence  and  immensity  of  na- 
ture,'*    Hence  follows  clearly, 

176.  A  fifth  rule  for  the  strength  of  sentences  ;  which  is, 
to  avoid  concluding  them  with  an  adverb,  dt,  preposition,  or 
any  inconsiderahle  word.  Such  conclusions  are  alwaj'l? 
enfeebling  and  degrading. 

06^,  There  are  sentences,  indeed,  where  the  stress  and  significancy 
TjCSt  chiefly  upon  some  words  of  this  kind.  In  this  case  they  are  not 
to  j?e  considered  as  circumstances,  but  as  the  capital  figures  ;  and 
ought,  in  propriety,  to  have  the  principal  place  allotted  them.  No 
fault,  for  instance,  can  be  found  with  this  sentence  :  ''  In  their  pros- 
perity, my  friends  shall  never  hear  of  me  ;  in  their  adversity,  al- 
ways."! Where  nerer,  and  always^  being  emphatical  words,  were  to 
be  so  placed,  as  to  make  a  strong  impression.  But  we  speak  now  of 
those  inferior  parts  of  speech,  wheo  introduced  as  circumstances,  or 
as  qualifications  of  more  important  words.  In  such  a  case  they 
should  always  be  disposed  of  in  the  least  conspicuous  parts  of  the  pe- 
riod ;  and  so  classed  with  other  words  of  greater  dignity,  as  to  be 
kept  in  their  proper  and  secondary  station. 

177.  Agreeably  to  this  rule,  we  should  always  avoid 
concluding  with  any  of  those  particles  which  mark  the  ca- 
ses of  nouns;  as,  oJ\  tOy  from,  with,  by, 

Illus^For  instance,  it  is  a  great  deal  better  to  say,  *•  Avarice  is  a 
crime  of  which  wise  men  are  often  guilty,"  than  to  say,  <'  Avarice  is  a 
crime  which  wise  men  are  often  guilty  of."  This  last  is  a  phraseology 
that,  with  reason,  all  correct  writers  shun  :  for,  besides  the  want  of 
dignity  which  arises  from  those  monosyllables  at  the  end,  the  imagin- 
ation cannot  avoid  resting,  for  a  little,  on  ti.o  import  of  the  word  that 
closes  the  sentence  :  and,  as  prepositions  iiave  no  import  of  tlieir 
own,  but  only  serve  to  point  out  the  relations  of  other  words,  it  is  dh 
agreeable  for  the  mind  to  be  left  pausing  on  a  word,  which  does  nor, 
by  itself,  produce  any  idea,   nor  form  any  pirture  in  the  fancy. 

178.  For  the  same  reason,  verbs  which  are  used  in  a  com- 

Jjound  sense,  with  some  of  the  prepositions,  are  not  heauti- 
III  conclusions  of  a  period.     Such  verbs  as,  bring  about,^ 

*  Spec^tor,  No.  420.  t  Bolingbroke. 

10 


iu4  On  the  Structure  of  Sentences, 

lay  hold  of,  come  over  to,  clear  vp,  and  many  other  oi  loj; 
kind  ought  to  be  avoided,  if  we  can  employ  a  simple  verb, 
which  will  always  terminate  the  sentence  with  more 
strength. 

Obs.  Though  the  pronoun,  it.  has  the  import  of  a  substantive  noun, 
and  indeed  often  forces  itself  upon  us  unavoidably,  yet,  when  we  want 
to  give  dignity  to  a  sentence,  this  pronoun  should,  if  possible,  be  tivoid- 
ed  in  the  conclusion  ;  more  especially  when  it  is  joined  with  sonic  of 
the  prepositions,  as,  with  it,  in  it,  to  it. 

179.  Besides  particles  and  pronouns,  any  phrase,  which 
expresses  a  circumstance  only,  always  brings  up  the  rear  of 
a  sentence  with  a  bad  grace. 

Ilhis.  We  may  judge  of  this,  by  the  following  sentence  from  Lord 
Bolingbroke  :  **  Let  nie  therefore  conclude  by  repeating,  that  division 
has  caused  all  the  mischief  we  lament  ;  that  union  alone  can  retrieve 
^is  ;  and  that  a  great  advance  towards  this  union  was  the  coalition  of 
parties,  so  happily  begun,  so  successfully  carried  on,  and  of  late  so 
maccountably  neglected  ;  to  say  no  worse."*  This  last  plirase  to  say 
.0  worsts  occasions  a  sad  falling  off  at  the  end  ;  so  much  the  more 
unhappy,  as  the  rest  of  the  period  is  conducted  after  the  manner  of  a 
climax,  which  we  expect  to  find  growing  to  the  last. 

Obs.  1.  The  proper  disposition  of  such  circumstances  in  a  sentence^ 
is  often  attended  with  considerable  trouble,  in  order  to  adjust  them  so, 
that  they  consist  equally  with  the  perspicuity  and  the  grace  of  the 
period.  Though  necessary  parts,  they  are,  however,  like  unshapely 
iitoncs  in  a  building,  which,  to  place  them  with  the  least  oflence,  try 
the  skill  of  an  artist.  *'  Let  them  be  inserted  wherever  the  happiest 
.)lace  for  them  can  be  found  ;  as,  in  a  structure  composed  of  rough 
tones,  there  arc  always  places  where  the  most  irregular  and  unshape- 
ly may  find  some  adjacent  one  to  which  it  can  be  joined,  and  some 
basis  on  which  it  may  rcst."t 

2.  The  close  is  always  an  unsuitable  place  for  them.  When  the 
sense  admits  their  arrangement,  the  sooner  they  arc  despatched,  gen- 
Mally  speaking,  the  better  ;  that  the  more  important  and  significant 
words  may  ])ossess  the  last  place,  quite  disencumbered.  It  is  a  rule 
too,  never  to  crowd  too  many  circumstances  together,  but  |g|ber  to 
iiiterperse  them  in  dilTerent  parts  of  the  sentence,  joined  vith  the 
♦-apital  words  on  which  they  depend  ;  provided  that  care  be  taken,  a? 
was  before  directed,  not  to  clog  those  capital  words  with  them. 

180.  The  last  rule,  which  we  have  to  offer,  relating  to 
the  strength  of  a  sentence,  is,  that  in  the  members  of  a  sen- 
tence where  two  things  are  compared  or  contrasted  with 
each  other  ;  where  either  a  resemblance  or  an  opposition 
is  intended  to  be  expressed  ;  some  resemblance,  in  the  la)i- 
s;uage  and  construction,  should  be  preserved.  For,  when 
the  things  themselves  correspond  to  each  other,  we  natur- 

•  Letter  on  the  State  of  Parties  at  the  Accession  of  King  George  I.  ^ 

+  "  Jiingaiitur  quo  congrvunt  maxime  ;  sicut  in  structura  sa.xorum  rutKum,  ctl^^rr 
:T)3n  rnormitas  invenit  ctsi  api>licari,  et  in  quo  powit  iiisistcrc."    C^uinctiliam 


Perspicuity.  105 

^iViy  expect  to  find  the  words  also  corresponding.  We  are 
disappointed  when  it  is  otherwise  ;  and  the  cojnparison,  or 
contrast,  appears  more  imperfect. 

lUus.  The  following  passage  from  Pope's  Preface  to  his  Homerg 
fully  exemplifies  the  rule  we  have  now  given  :  ^^  Homer  was  the 
greater  genius  ;  Virgil  the  better  artist  ;  in  the  one,  we  most  admire 
the  man  ;  in  the  other,  the  work.  Homer  hurries  us  with  a  command- 
ing imi)etu,osity  ;  Virgil  leads  us  with  an  attractive  majesty.  Homer 
scatters  with  a  generous  profusion  ;  Virgil  bestows  with  a  careful 
magnificence.  Homer,  like  the  Nile,  pours  out  his  riches  with  a  sud- 
den  overflow  ;  Virgil,  like    a    river    in    its   banks,  with    a   constant 

stream. And   when  we  look  upon   their   machines.   Homer  seems 

like  his  own  Jupiter  in  his  terrors,  shaking  Olympus,  scattering  the 
lightnings,  and  firing  the  heavens  ;  Virgil,  like  the  same  power  in  his 
benevolence,  counselling  wiih  the  gods,  laying  plans  for  empires,  and 
ordering  his  whole  creation." 

CoroL  Periods  thus  constructed,  when  introduced  with  propriety^ 
and  not  returning  too  often,  have  a  sensible  beauty.  But  we  must 
beware  of  carrying  our  attention  to  this  beauty  too  far.  It  ought 
only  to  be  occasionally  studied,  when  it  is  naturally  demanded  by  the 
comparison  or  opposition  of  objects.  If  such  a  construction  as  this 
be  aimed  at  in  all  our  sentences,  it  leads  to  a  disagreeable  uniformity  ; 
produces  a  regularly  returning  clink  in  the  period,  which  plainly  dis- 
covers affeclaiion,  and  tires  the  ear  like  the  chime  of  jingling  verse.  ' 
Scholia.  The  fundamental  rule  for  the  construction  of  sentence?^ 
arfd  into  which  all  other  rules  might  be  resolved,  undoubtedly  is,  to 
communicate,  in  the  clearest  and  most  natural  order,  the  ideas  which 
we  mean  to  transfuse  into  the  minds  of  our  hearers  or  readers.  Eve- 
ry arrangement  that  does  most  justice  to  the  sense,  and  expresses  it 
to  most  advantage,  strikes  us  as  beautiful.  To  this  point  have  tended 
all  the  rules  that  we  have  given.  And,  indeed,  did  men  always  think 
clearly,  and  were  they,  at  the  same  time,  fully  masters  of  the  language 
in  which  they  write,  there  would  be  occasion  for  few  rules.  Their 
sentences  would  then,  of  course,  acquire  all  those  properties  of  pre- 
cision, unity,  and  strength,  which  v/e  have  recommended.  ''  For  we 
may  rest  assured,"  says  Dr.  Blair,*  "  thai,  whenever  we  express  our- 
selves ill,  there  is,  besides  the  mismanagement  of  language,  for  the 
most  part,  some  mistake  in  our  manner  of  conceiving  the  subject. 
Embarrassed,  obscure,  and  feeble  sentences,  are  generally,  if  not  al- 
ways, the  result,  of  embarrassed,  obscure,  and  feeble  thought.  Thought 
and  language  act  and  re-act  upon  each  other  mutually.  Logic  and 
rhetoric  have  iiere,  as  in  many  other  cases,  a  strict  connection  ;  and 
;ie  that  is  learning  to  arrange  his  sentences  with  accuracy  and  order, 
s  learning  at  the  same  time,  to  think  with  accuracy  and  order  ;"  an 
observation  v/hich  alone  will  justify  all  the  care  and  attention  whicli 
'■'■'  have  'M^stowed  on  this  subject. 

*  Lectures  on  Biictcrio,  Lect.  XI& 


lOS  Perspicuity, 

CHAPTER  IV, 

PERSPICUITY. 

181.  PERSPICUTIY  originally  and  properly  signifies 
transparency,  such  as  may  be  ascribed  to  air,  glass,  water, 
or  any  other  medium,  through  which  material  objects  are 
viewed.  From  this  original  and  proper  sense,  it  hath  beet* 
metaphorically  applied  to  language,  this  being,  as  it  were,  the 
medium,  through  which  we  perceive  the  notions  and  senti- 
ments of  any  speaker  or  writer. 

Illus.  1.  Now,  in  natural  things,  if  the  medium  through  which  we 
look  at  any  object,  be  perfectly  transparent,  our  whole  attpntion  Is 
iixed  on  the  object.  If,  for  instance,  we  look  through  the  panes  of 
criass  in  any  window,  we  are  scarcely  sensible  that  there  is  a  medium 
N  hich  intervenes,  and  can  hardly  be  said  to  perceive  the  medium, 
liut  if  there  be  any  flaw  in  the  glass,  if  we  see  through  it  but  dimly, 
if  the  object  be  imperfectly  represented,  or  if  we  know  it  to  be  mis- 
represented, our  attention  is  immetliately  taken  off  the  object,  and 
turned  to  the  medium.  We  are  then  desirous  to  discover  the  cause, 
cither  of  the  dim  and  confused  representation,  or  of  the  misrepresen- 
tation of  things  which  the  medium  exhibits,  or  that  the  defect  in  .vis- 
ion may  be  supplied  by  judgment. 

2.  The  case  of  language  is  precisely  similar.  A  discourse,  then, 
excels  in  perspicuity,  when  the  subject  engrosses  the  attention  of  the 
hearer,  and  the  diction  is  so  little  minded  by  him,  that  he  can  scarcely 
be  said  to  be  conscious  that  it  is  through  this  medium  he  sees  into  the 

peaker's  thoughts. 

3.  On  the  contrary,  the  least  obscurity,  ambiguity,  or  confusion  in 
the  style,  instantly  removes  the  attention  from  the  sentiment  to  the  ex- 
pression, and  the  hearer  endeavours,  by  the  aid  of  reflection,  to  cor- 
rect the  imperfections  of  the  speaker's  language.  Whatever  applica- 
tion he  nms»t  give  to  tlic  words,  is,  in  fact,  so  much  deducted  from  what 
lie  owes  to  the  sentiments.  Besides,  the  effort  which  the  speaker  thus 
requires  his  hearer  to  exert  in  a  very  close  attention  to  the  language,  al- 
ways weakens  the  effect,  which  the  thoughts  were  intended  to  produce 

u  the  mind  of  the  hearer. 

4.  Perspicuity  is,  of  all  qualities  of  style,  the  first  and  most  essen- 
.Kil.  Kvery  speaker  does  not  propose  to  please  the  imagination,  nor 
<  every  subject  susceptible  of  those  ornaments,  which  conduce  to  this 
>  urposc.  Much  less  is  it  the  aim  of  every  speech,  to  agitate  the  pas- 
ions.  There  are  some  occasions,  therefore,  in  which  variety,  and 
many  in  which  animation  of  style,  are  not  neeesisary  ;  nay,  there  are 

occasions  on  which  the  last  especially  would  be  improper.  But  what- 
ever be  the  ultimate  intention  of  the  orator,  to  inform,  to  convince,  to 
please,  to  move,  or  to  persuade,  still  he  must  speak  so  as  to  be  under- 
stood, or  he  speaks  to  no  purpose.  If  he  do  not  propose  to  convey 
certain  sentiments  into  the  minds  of  his  hearers,  by  the  aid  of  signs- 
intelligible  to  them,  he  may  as  well  declaim  before  them  in  an  un> 
known  tongue.     This  prerogative  the  intellect  hath  above  all  the  cthe». 


The  Ob sciite,  from  Defect.  107 

..cu!tk5,  that,  whether  it  be  or  be  not  immediately  addressed  by  the 

peaker,  it  must  be  regarded  by  him  either  ultimately  or  subordinate- 

iy;  ultimately,  when  the  direct  purpose  of  t!ie  discourse  is  informa 

tion,  or  conviction  ;  subordinately,  when  the  end  is  pleasure,  emotion 

or  persuasion. 

5.  Besides,  in  a  discourse  wherein  either  vivacity  or  animation  is  re- 
quisite, it  is  not  every  sentence  that  requires,  or  even  admits,  of  either 
of  these  qualities  ;  but  every  sentence  ought-  to  be  perspicuous.  The 
effect  of  ail  other  qualities  is  lost  without  this.  But  this  being  to  the 
understanding,  what  light  is  to  the  eye,  ought  to  be  diffused  over  the 
whole  performance.  And  since  perspicuity  is  more  properly  a  rheto- 
ricial  than  a  grammatical  quality,  we  shall  point  out  tVie  different  ways 
in  which  a  writer  may  fail  to  produce  a  style  which  shall  answer  the 
conditions  of  the  definition  we  have  given  of  perspicuity. 

t>.  A  man  may,  in  respect  of  grammatical  purity,  speak  unexcep- 
I'juably,  and  yet  speak  obscureltf  and  ambiguously;  and  though  we 
annot  say,  that  a  man  may  speak  properly,  and  at  the  same  time 
speak  miintelligibly  ;  yet  this  last  case  falls  more  naturally  to  be  con* 
sidcred  as  an  offence  against  perspicuity,  than  as  a  violation  of  pro- 
priety. (jJrt,  il2',  117,  a7id  124.)  For  when  the  meaning  is  not  dis 
covered,  the  particular  impropriety  cannot  be  pointed  out.  In  the 
three  different  ways,  therefore,  just  now  mentioned,  perspicuity  may 
be  violated. 

182.  The  obscure,  from  defect,  is  the  first  offence  agains?; 
perspicuity,  and  may  arise  from  elliptical  expressions.  This 
is  tlie  converse  of  precision,     (^^r/.  1 1 8.) 

Illus.  In  Greek  and  Latin,  the  frequent  suppression  of  the  substan^ 
tive  verb,  and  of  the  possessive  and  personal  pronouns,  furnishes  in- 
stances of  ellipses,  which  the  idiom  of  most  modern  tongues,  English 
and  French  particularly,  will  seldom  admit.     (Illus.  2.  ^rt.  119.) 

183.  Often,  indeed,  the  affectation  of  conciseness,  often 
the  rapidity  of  thought,  natural  to  some  writers,  will  give 
rise  to  still  more  material  defects  in  the  expression. 

Example.  *'He  is  inspired  with  a  true  sense  of  that  function,  when 
chosen  from  a  regard  to  the  interests  of  piety  and  virtue."* 

Jinalysis.  Sense,  in  this  passage,  denotes  an  inward  feeling,  or  the 
impression  which  some  sentiment  makes  upon  the  mind.  New  a  func- 
tion cannot  be  a  sentiment  impressed  or  felt.  The  expression  is  there- 
fore defective,  and  ought  to  have  read  thus  :  "  He  is  inspired  with  a 
true  sense  of  the  dignity,  or  of  the  importance,  of  that  function." 

Obs.  Obscurities  in  style  arise  not  merely  from  deficiency,  but  from 
;xcess  of  expression,  and  often  from  the  bad  choice  of  words.  (.See 
Irt.  118,  119,  and  12k) 

184.  Bad  arrrangement  is  another  source  of  obscurity. 
In  this  case,  the  construction  is  not  sufficiently  clear.  One 
often,  on  first  hearing  the  sentence,  imagines,  from  the  turn 
of  it,  that  it  ought  to  be  construed  one  way,  and  on  reiiec- 
xi(m  finds  that  it  must  be  construed  another  way.  {Art.  143^ 
144,  and  145.) 

•  Gaardiau,  No.  SS. 

10* 


108  PeTspkidiy. 

Example.  "I  have  hopes,  that  when  Will  confronts  him,  And  aU 
the  ladies  in  whost  behalf  he  engages  him,  cast  kind  looks  and  wishes 
of  success  at  their  champion,  he  will  have  some  shame."* 

Analysis  It  is  impossible  not  to  iraaa;inc,  on  1. earing  the  first  part 
of  this  sentence,  that  Will  is  to  confront  all  the  ladies  ;  though  af- 
terwards we  find  it  neecessary  to  construe  this  clause  nith  the  Ibllow- 
ing  verb.  This  confusion  is  removed  at  once,  by  repeating  the  adverb 
when. 

"  I  have  hopes,  that  when  Will  confronts  him,  and  when  all  the  la- 
dies cast  kind  looks,"  k,c. 

Corol.  Bad  arrailgement  may  be  justly  termed  a  constructire  ambi- 
guity. The  words  are  so  disposed,  in  point  of  order,  as  would  render 
tljein  really  ambiguous,  if,  in  that  construction,  which  the  expression 
first  suggests,  any  meaning  were  cxiubitod.  As  this  is  not  the  case, 
the  laulty  order  of  the  words  cannot  properly  be  considered,  as  ren- 
dering the  sentence  ambiguous,  but  obscure. 

185.  The  same  icord  used  in  different  senses  in  the  same 
sentence,  is  another  st?urcc  of  obscurity. 

Example.  "That  he  should  be  in  earnest,  it  is  hard  to  conceive; 
since  any  reasons  of  doubt,  which  he  mifiht  have  in  this  case,  would 
have  been  reasons  of  doubt  in  the  case  of  other  men,  who  may  give 
morey  but  canot  give  more  evident,  signs  of  thought,  than  their  fellow* 
creatures."! 

^Snalysis  This  errs  alike  against  perspicuity  and  elegance.  The 
frrst  word,  more,  is  an  adjective,  the  comparative  of  many ;  in  an  in- 
stant it  is  an  adverb,  and  the  sign  of  the  comparative  degree.  As  the 
reader  is  not  apprised  of  this,  the  sentence  must  appear  to  him,  on 
the  first  glance,  a  flat  contradiction,     {^irt.  122.  Illus.  1  and  2.) 

Correclimi.  *' Who  may  give  more  numerous,  but  cannot  give  tnore 
evident  signs:"  or  llius,"VVho  may  give  more^  but  cannot  give  clearer 
.signs." 

186.  It  is  but  seldom  that  the  same  pronoun  can  be 
usetl  twice,  or  oftener,  in  the  same  sentence,  in  reference  to 
dill'eront  thin<j;s,  without  darke^iing  the  expression.  The 
si<»;nification  of  the  personal,  as  well  as  of  the  relative  pro- 
nouns, and  even  of  the  adverbs  of  place  and  time,  must  be 
determined  by  the  thiiigs  to  which  they  relate.  To  use 
them  therefore,  with  reference  t<)  diflferent  things,  is,  in  ef- 
fect, to  employ  the  same  word  in  different  senses;  which, 
when  it  occurs  in  the  same  sentence,  or  in  sentences  closely 
connected,  is  rarely  found  entirely  compatible  with  perspi- 
cuity.    {See  Art,  152.  Illus,) 

Example.  "One  may  have  an  air  nhirh  proceeds  from  a  just  suffi- 
ciency and  kno wedge  of  the  matter  before  him,  which  may  naturally 
produce  some  motions  of  his  head  and  body,  which  might  become  the 
bench  better  than  the  bar."| 

.Analysis.  The  pronoun  which  is  here  thrice  used  in  three  several 
iienses;  and  it  must   reijnire  reflection  to  discover,  that  the   first  de- 

*  Spectator,  No.  20.     t  Bolingbroke's  Ph.  Ess.  I.  Sec.  9.       f  GoanUan,  No.  tf. 


The  Double  Meaning,  .  109 

wotos  air^  the  second,  sufficiency  and  knowledge^  and  the  third,  motions 
of  the  head  and  body. 

187.  From  too  artificial  a  structure  of  the  sentence,  ob- 
scurity may  arise.  This  happens  when  tlie  structure  of  the 
sentence  is  too  much  complicated,  or  too  artificial ;  or  when 
the  sense  is  too  long  suspended  by  parentheses.  (Scholia^ 
p.  93.) 

Ohs.  A  short  parenthesis,  introduced  in  a  proper  place,  will  not  in 
the  least  hurt  the  clearness,  and  may  add  both  to  the  vivacity,  and  to 
the  energy,  of  the  sentence.     (See  Art.  157.) 

188.  Technical  terms,  injudiciously  introduced,  is  anoth- 
er source  of  darkness  in  composition.  [See  Art,  84.  lUus.) 
But  in  treatises  on  the  principles  of  any  art,  they  are  not 
only  convenient,  but  even  necessary.  In  ridicule  too,  if 
used  sparingly,  as  in  comedy  or  romance,  they  are  allowa- 
ble.    [Ubs.  KArt.  114.) 

189.  Long  Sentences  may  be  justly  accounted  liable  to 
obscurity,  since  it  is  difficult  to  extend  them,  without  in- 
volving some  of  the  other  faults  before  mentioned.  And 
when  a  long  peiiod  does  not  appear  obscure,  it  will  always 
be  remarked,  that  all  its  principal  members  are  similar  in 
their  structure,  and  would  constitute  so  many  distinct  sen- 
tences, if  they  were  not  limited,  by  their  reference  to  some 
common  clause  in  the  beginning  or  the  end.  {^See  drt. 
138.) 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  DOUBLE  MEANING,  OR  EqUIVOCATION. 

190.  THE  double  meaning.  Perspicuity  may  i>e  viotn- 
led,  not  only  by  obscurity,  but  also  by  double  meaning. 
(Art.U^.) 

Illus.  The  fault  in  this  case  is  not  that  the  sentence  conveys  dark- 
ly or  imperfectly  the  author's  meaning,  hut  that  it  conveys  also  some 
other  meanin»-  which  is  not  the  author's.  His  words  are  susceptible 
of  more  than  one  interpretation.  When  this  happens,  it  is  always 
occasioned,  either  by  using  some  expression  which  is  equivocal  ;  that 
is,  which  hath  more  meanings  than  the  one  which  the  author  afSxes  to 
it ;  or  by  ranging  the  words  in  such  an  order,  that  the  construction  is 
rendered  equivocal,  or  made  to  exhibit  different  senses.  The  former 
we  term  equivocation,  the  latter  ambiguity.  (See  Defin.  19.  p.  79.) 

191.  Equivocation,     When  i\\t  word  denotes  in  compd- 


UO  PerspicuiiiJ^ 

sition,  as  in  common  language  it  generally  denotes,  the  use 
of  an  equivocal  word,  or  phrase,  or  other  ambiguity,  with  aft 
intention  to  deceive,  it  dift'ers  not  essentially  from  a  lie. 

This  offence  falls  under  the  reproof  of  the  moralist,  not  the  oensm'- 
of  the  rhetorician. 

192.  Again,  when  the  word  denotes,  as  agreeably  it  may 
denote,  that  exercise  of  wit  which  consists  in  the  playful 
use  of  any  term  or  phrase  in  different  senses,  and  which  is 
denominated  p?m,  it  is  amenable,  indeed,  to  the  tribunal  of 
criticism,  but  it  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  violation  of  the 
laws  of  perspicuity. 

It  is  neither  with  the  liar  nor  the  punster  that  we  are  concerned  at 
present. 

193.  The  only  species  of  equivocation  that  comes  under 
reprehension  here,  is  that  which  takes  place,  when  an  au- 
thor undesignedly  employs  an  expression  susceptible  of  a 
sense  diflerent  from  the  sense  he  intends  it  should  convey. 

Obs.  This  fault  has  been  illustrated  iu  Articles  113,  121,  122,  and 
123. 

194.  The  equivocation  may  be  either  in  a  single  word, 
or  in  a  phrase. 

Illus.  1.  'Die  preposition  o/ denotes  sometimes  the  relation  whick 
any  affection  hears  to  its  subject  ;*  sometimes  the  relation  which  it 
bears  to  its  object. 

Example.  1.  Hence  this  expression  of  the  Apostle  has  been  obser- 
ved to  be  equivocal :  '*  I  am  persuaded  that  neither  death  nor  lifeshall 
be  able  to  separate  us  from  the  love  o/God."t  By  iht  love  of  God, 
say  interpreters,  may  be  understood,  either  God's  lore  to  m*,  or  our 
love  to  God. 

2.  As  the  preposition  o/ sometimes  denotes  the  relation  of  the  ef- 
fect to  the  cause,  sometimes  that  of  the  accident  to  the  subject  ;  from 
this  duplicity  of  sig^nification,  there  will  also,  in  certain  circumstances, 
arise  a  double  meanin«f.  **  A  little  after  tb4i  reformation  o/ Luther,"; 
is  a  phrase  which  sugf^ests  as  readily  a  change  wrought  on  Luther  as 
a  change  wrought  by  him.  But  the  phraseology  Is  intelligible  when 
we  apply  the  term  reformation  to  the  schism  which  Luther  produced 
i  n  the  Catholic  Church. 

Illus.  2.  The  CO 71  junctions  shall  furnish  our  second  illustration. 

Example.  '*  They  were  both  more  ancient  among  the  Persians 
tha\i  Zoroaster  or  Zerdusht."^ 

.^inali/sis.  The  conjunction  or  is  here  equivocal.  It  serves  either 
as  a  copulative  to  synonymous  words,  or  as  a  disjunctive  of  different 
thmgs.  But  Zoroaster  and  Zerdusht  mean  the  same  person,  therefore 
the  sentence  is  equivocal. 

Corol.   1.  If  the  first  noun  follows  &n  article  or  a  preposition^  or 

•  That  is,  the  person  whose  afftction  it  is.  t  Romans  viii.  38,&«. 

i  Swift's  Mechaiiital  Dpi  rations. 

I  Boliiigbroke's  Substance  of  Letters  to  M.  de  Pouilly. 


The  Double  Meaning.  Ill 

feoth  ;  the  article,  or  the  preposition,  or  both,  should  be  repeated  be- 
fore the  second,  when  the  two  nouns  are  intended  to  denote  different 
things  ;  and  should  not  be  repeated,  when  they  are  intended  to  denote 
the  same  thing-. 

2.  If  there  be  neither  article  nor  preposition  before  the  first,  and  if 
it  be  the  intention  of  the  writer  to  use  the  particle  or  disjunctively, 
let  the  first  noun  be  preceded  by  either,  which  will  infallibly  ascertain 
the  meaning, 

3.  On  the  contrary,  if,  in  such  a  dubious  case,  it  be  his  design  to 
use  the  particle  as  a  copulative  to  synonymous  words,  the  piece  will 
rarely  sustain  a  material  injury,  by  omitting  both  the  conjunction  and 
synonyma. 

lilus.  3.  Pronouns  may  also  be  used  equivocally. 

Example.  "  She  united  the  great  body  of  the  people  in  her  and  their 
common  interest."* 

Analysis.  The  word  her  may  be  either  the  possessive  pronoun,  or 
the  accusative  case  of  the  personal  pronoun.  A  very  small  alteration 
in  the  order  totally  removes  the  doubt.  Say,  *'  in  their  and  her  com- 
mon interest."  The  word  thus  connected,  can  only  be  the  possessive, 
as  the  author  doubtless  intended  it  should  be  in  the  passage  quoted. 

Jllus.  4,  Substantives  are  sometimes  used  equivocally. 

Example.  "  Your  Majesty  has  lost  all  hopes  of  any  future  excises 
by  their  consumption. ''f 

Analysis.  The  word  consumption  has  both  an  active  sense  and  a  pas- 
sive. It  means  either  the  act  of  consuming,  or  the  state  of  being  con- 
sumed. 

Correction.  "  Your  Majesty  has  lost  all  hopes  of  levying  any  future 
excises  on  what  they  shall  consume." 

Jllus.  5.  Adjectives  also  are  used  equivocally. 

Example.  "  As  for  such  animals  as  are  mortal  or  noxious,  we  have 
a  right  to  destroy  thera."| 

Analysis.  Indeed  !  all  men  are  liable  to  death,  and  all  men  are  ani~ 
imals,  but  we  have  no  right  to  destroy  eacli  other.  The  word  mortal, 
thsrefore,  in  this  sentence  might  be  justly  considered  as  improper;  (Art. 
117.  Illus.3.)  for  though  it  sometimes  means  destructive,  or  causing 
death,  it  is  then  almost  invariably  joined  with  some  noun  expressive 
of  hurt  or  danger. 

Illus.  6.  Ferbs  often  present  a  false  sense  more  readily  than  t\m 
true. 

Example.  "  The  next  refuge  was  to  say  it  was  overlooked  by  one 
man,  and  many  passages  wholly  written  by  another. "§ 

Analysis.  The  word  overlooked  sometimes  signifies  revised,  and 
sometimes  neglected.  But  the  participle  is  used  here  in  the  former 
sense,  therefore  the  word  revised  ought  to  have  been  preferred. 

Illus.  7.  In  the  next  quotation  the  homonymous  term  rnay  be  either 
an  adjective  or  an  adverb,  and  admits  a  different  sense  in  each  accep* 
lation. 

Example.  "  Not  on/?/ Jesuits  can  equivocate."i| 

Analysis.  If  the  word  only  is  here  an  adverb,  the  sense  is  ''to  equiv- 

■ate  is  not  the  only  thing  that  Jesuits  can  do,"  This  interpretation, 
hough  not  Dryden's  meaning,  suits  the  construction.  The  proper 
•ad  unequivocal  meaning,  though  a  prosaic  expression  of  this  scnscy 

*  Idea  of  a  Patriot  King,  t  Guardian,  No.  52.  \  Ibid,  No.  §?>• 

^  Sptctator,  No.  19.  jj  Dryden's  Hind  and  Panther. 


112  Jlmhigxiity. 

is,  "  Jesuits  can  not  only  equivocate  "  Agrain,  if  the  wofd  onl^  is  hefe 
an  adjective  (and  this  doubtless  is  the  author's  meaning)  the  sense  is, 
"  Jesuits  are  not  the  only  persons  who  can  equivocate." 

Illas.  8  Equivocal  phrases  are  such  as,  not  the  leasts  not  the  small- 
est, which  may  signify  ''  not  any,"  as  though  one  should  say,  not  even 
the  least,  not  so  much  as  the  smallest ;  and  sometimes  again  a  very  great, 
as  though  it  were  expressed  in  this  manner, /ar/rom  being  the  least 
or  smallest.  Now  since  they  are  susceptible  of  two  significations  which 
are  not  only  different,  but  contrary,they  ought  to  be  totally  laid  aside. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AMBIGUITY. 

i'UE  double  meanins^  arises,  not  from  the  use  of 
"<iiuv<)cal  terms,  but  solely  from  the  construction  ;  and  is^ 
therefore  distinguished  by  the  name  (unbiguity,  (^See  Art* 
1 90.  and  lilus,  also  HrL  151.) 

lilns.  \\\  the  use  of  ;9ronoMn*,the  reference  to  the  antecedent  should 
be  so  unquestionable,  that  no  false  meaning  could  possibly  be  sugges- 
ted by  the  manner  of  construing  the  words,  of  which  a  sentence  may 
be  composed. 

Examples.  "  Solomon^  the  son  of  David,  who  built  the  temple  at  Je- 
rusalem, was  the  richest  monarch  that  ever  reigned  •ver  the  Jewish 
people,"  and  "  Solomon,  the  son  of  David,  who  was  persecuted  by 
Saul,  was  the  richest  monarch." 

JJnalysis.  In  these  two  instances,  the  who  is  similarly  situated  ;  yH 
in  the  former,  it  relates  to  the  person  first  mentioned  ;  in  the  latter,  to 
the  second.  And  some  previous  knowledge  of  the  history  of  those 
kings  is  necessary  to  enable  any  reader  to  discover  this  relation  to 
the  one  or  to  the  other. 

Correction.  ''  Solomon,  the  son  of  David,  and  the  builder  of  the 
iemple  of  Jerusalem,  was  iho  richest  monarch." 

Example  2.  The  following  quotation  exhibits  a  triple  sense,  arising 
from  the  indeterminate  use  of  the  relative. 

'  Such  were  the  centaurs  of  Ixion's  race, 
H'ho  a  brij^ht  cloud  for  Juno  did  embrace."* 

.^nnfi/sis.  Who  embraced  the  cloud,  the  centaurs,  Irion,  or  his  race  P 
The  relative  ought  grammatically  to  refer  rather  to  the  centaurs,  than 
to  either  of  the  other  two,  and  least  of  all  to  Ixion,  to  whom  it  was 
jutended  to  refer. 

195.  The  relatives  who^  vjhicli,  that,  whose  and  whom, 
often  create  ambiguity,  even  when  there  can  be  no  doubt  in 
regard  to  the  antecedent. 

Jllus.  1.  These  pronouns  are  sometimes  explicative,  sometimes  de- 
terminative.    They  are  explicative  when  they  serve  merely  for  the 

*  Denbam'8  Prog;ren  of  Learning;^ 


Ambiguity,  11  j 

yJustratton  of  the  subject,  by  pointing  out  eitber  some  property,  or 
some  circumstance  belonging  to  it,  leaving  it,  however,  to  be  under- 
stood in  its  full  extent. 

Examples.  "  iVlan,  who  is  born  of  a  woman,  is  of  few  days,  and  ful! 
of  trouble."  "  Godliness,  wJiich  with  contentment  is  great  gain,  has 
the  promise  both  of  the  present  life,  and  of  the  future." 

Jinalysis.  The  clause,  "  who  is  born  of  a  woman,"  in  the  first  ex- 
ample, and  "  which  with  contentment  is  great  gain,"  in  the  second^ 
point  to  certain  properties  in  the  antecedent,  but  do  not  restrain  their 
signification.  For,  should  we  omit  these  clauses  altogether,  we  could 
say  with  equal  truth,  "Man  is  of  few  days,  and  full  of  trouble," 
*'  Godliness  has  the  promise  both  of  the  present  life,  and  of  the  future." 

Illus.  2.  On  the  other  hand,  these  pronouns  are  determinative,  when 
they  are  employed  to  limit  the  import  of  the  antecedent. 

.  Examples.  "  The  man  that  endureth   to   the  end   shall  be  saved." 
^^  The  remorse,  which  issues  in  reformation,  is  true  repentance." 

Jinalysis.  Each  of  the  relatives  here  confines  the  signification  of  its 
antecedent  to  such  only  as  are  possessed  of  the  qualification  mention- 
ed. For  it  is  not  affirmed  of  every  man  that  he  shall  be  saved  ;  nor  of 
all  remorse,  that  it  is  true  repentance. 

196.  From  the  above  examples,  it  may  fairlj  be  collected, 
that  with  us  the  definite  article  is  of  great  use  for  discrimin- 
ating the  explicative  sense  from  the  determinative.  In  the 
lirst  case  it  is  rarely  used,  in  the  second,  it  ought  never  to 
be  omitted,  unless  when  something  still  more  definitive, 
such  as  a  demonstrative  pronoun,  supplies  its  place.  (Jirt, 
'57.  Illus.) 

Example.  '^  I  know  that  all  words  which  are  signs  of  complex  ideas^ 
furnish  matter  of  mistake  and  cavil.""* 

Jinalysis.  As  words,  the  antecedent,  has  neither  the  article  nor  a 
demonstrative  pronoun  to  connect  it  with  the  subsequent  relative,  it 
should  seem  that  the  clause,  "  which  are  signs  of  complex  ideas," 
was  merely  explicative,  and  that  the  subject  words  was  to  be  under- 
stood in  the  utmost  latitude.  This  could  not  be  the  noble  writer's 
sense,  as  it  would  be  absurd  to  affirm  of  all  words,  that  they  are  signs 
of  complex  ideas. 

Correction.  "  I  know  that  all  fhe  words  wlijch  are  signs  of  complex 
ideai;"  or,  ''  I  know  that  all  those  words  which  are  signs."  Either  of 
theseways  makes  the  clause  beginning  with  the  relative  serve  to  limit 
the  iraport  of  the  antecedent. 

197.  In  numberless  instances  we  find  the  pronouns  his 
and  ke  used,  in  like  manner,  ambiguously  ;  and  the  latter 
especially  when  two  or  more  males  happen  to  be  mentioned 
in  i\\t  same  clause  of  a  sentence. 

Obs.  In  such  a  case,  we  ought   always  either  to  give  another  turw 
to  the  expression,  or  to  use  the  noun  itself,  and  not  the  pronoun  ;  foi 
".vhen  ihe  repetition  of  the  word  is  necessary,  it  i.s  not  offensive.  (Ilivr. 
•>3.p.  in.andJ2ri.irj2.) 

*  BoJingbvoke's  Djssertaiion  on  Parties,  Lcct .  X? 


"1 14  Ambiguity, 

198.  There  is  in  adjectives  especially,  a  great  risk  o; ,,,., 
bigiiity,  when  they  are  not  joined  to  the   substantives  to 
which  they  belong.     (Itlus.  5, p.  Hi.) 

Illus.  1.  This  hazard  arises,  in  our  lang^uage,  from  our  adjectives 
'laving  no  declension,  by  which  case,  number,  and  g^ender  are  distin- 
iiishcd.  Their  rehition,  therefore,  is  not  otherwise  to  be  ascertained 
Jian  by  their  place.     {Illus.  §  //.  p.  64.) 

Example.  "  God  heapeth  favours  on  his  servants  ever  liberal  and 
faithful." 

Analysis.  Is  it  God  or  his  servants  that  are  ever  liberal  and  faith- 
ful ?  If  the  former,  then  the  sentence  should  run  thus  ;  <'  God,  ever 
liberal  and  faithful,  heapeth  favours  on  his  servants."  If  the  latter, 
then  "  God  heapeth  favours  on  his  ever  liberal  and  faithful  servants," 
«r  *'  his  servants  who  are  ever  liberal  and  faithful." 

Illus.  2.  Two  or  more  adjectives  are  sometimes  made  to  refer  to  the 
^ame  substantive,  when,  in  fact,  they  do  not  belong  to  the  same  thing, 
\>ut  to  different  thinjrs,  which,  being  of  the  same  kind,  arc  expressed 
oy  the  same  generic  name. 

Example.  "  Both  the  ecclesiastic,  and  the  secular  powers  concur- 
red in  those  measures." 

Analysis.  Here  the  two  adjectives,  ecclesiastic  and  secular,  relate 
"o  the  same  substantive  powers,  but  do  not  relate  to  the  same  individ- 
ual things  ;  for  the  powers  denominated  ecclesiastic  are  totally  dif- 
:'erent  from  those  denominated  secular.  This  too  common  idiom  may 
h^  avoided  either  by  repeating  the  sabstaiitive,  or  by  subjoining  the 
substantive  to  the  first  adjective,  and  prefixing  the  article  to  the  se- 
cond as  well  as  the  first. 

Correciion.  ''  Both  the  ecclesiastic  powers,  and  the  seculjir  concur- 
red in  those  measures,"  or,  '*  Both  the  ecclesiastic  powers,  and  the 
t?€cular  powers  ;"  but  the  former  is  perhaps  preferable. 

199.  The  construction  of  substantive  nouns  is  sometimes 
ambiguous,  (Illus,  4.  p,  lll.j 

Example  1.  "You  shall  seldom  find  a  dull  fellow  of  good  educa- 
tion, but  (if  he  happen  to  have  any  leisure  upon  his  hands)  will  torn 
his  head  to  one  of  those  two  amusements  for  all  fools  of  eminence, 
politics  or  poetry."* 

jlnaljjsis.  The  position  of  the  words  polilics  or  poetry  makes  one  at 
first  imagine,  that  along  with  the  terms  eminence,  they  are  affecte«f  by 
the  preposition  o/,  and  construed  wi(h /00/5.  The  repetition  of  tie  to 
after  eminence  would  have  totally  removed  the  ambiguity. 

Example  2.  "  .V  rising  tomb  the  lofty  column  bor«'.'t 

.'inalysis.  Did  ^he  tomb  bear  the  column,  or  the  column  the  tomb  ? 
But  this  fault  is  frequent,  in  the  construction  of  substantives,  espetially 
in  verse,  when  both  what  we  call  the  nominative  case  and  the  accusa- 
tive are  put  before  the  verb.  As  in  nouns  those  cases  are  not  »|stin- 
guishcd  either  by  inflection,  or  prepositions,  so  neither  can  tljy  be 
.distinguished  in  such  instances  by  arrangement. 

200.  Jlmbiguity  in  using  the  conjunctions, 

Exawple.  "  At  least  my  own  private  letters  leave  room  for  a  [oliti-^ 

•  Spectator,  No.  43.  t  Pope's  ©dyssey,  Book  12. 


Ambiguity,  115 

tiian,  well  versed  in  matters  of  this  nature,  to  suspect  as  mucky  as  a 
penetrating  friend  of  mine  tells  me." 

Analysis,  The  particle  as^  which  in  this  sentence  immediately  pre- 
cedes the  wovA^a  penelrating  friendy  makes  frequently  a  part  of  these 
compound  conjunctions  as  much  as,  as  well  as,  as  far  as.  It  will,  there- 
fore, naturally  appear,  at  first,  to  belong^  to  the  words  as  much,  which 
immediately  precede  it.  But  as  this  is  not  really  the  case,  it  ought  to 
have  been  otherwise  situated  ;  for  it  is  not  enough  that  it  is  separated 
by  a  comma,  these  small  distinctions  in  the  pointing  being  but  too  fre- 
quently overlooked, 

Corrtciion.  '*  At  least  my  own  private  letters,  as  a  penetrating 
friend  of  mine  tells  mo,  leave  room  for  a  politician  well  versed  in 
inatters  of  this  nature  to  suspect  as  much." 

201.  Sometimes  a  particular  clause  or  expression  is  so 
situated,  tiiat  it  may  be  construed  with  different  members  of 
the  same  sentence,  and  thus  exhibit  dijferent  meanings. 
(Jllus  S.p.  il2.  and  Art,  151.) 

Example.  "  It  has  not  a  word  but  what  the  author  religiously  thinks 
in  it."* 

Analysis.  One  would  at  first  imagine  the  author's  meaning  to  be, 
that  it  iiad  not  a  word  which  the  author  did  not  think  to  be  in  it.  Al- 
ter a  little  the  place  of  the  last  two  words,  and  supply  the  ellipsis,  and 
the  ambiguity  will  be  removed. 

Correction.  "  It  has  not  a  word  in  it,  but  what  the  author  religiously 
thinks  it  should  contain." 

202.  The  squinting  construction ^f  another  fertile  source 
of  ambiguity,  is,  when  a  clause  is  so  situated  in  a  sentence, 
that  one  is  at  first  at  a  loss  to  know  whether  it  ought  to  be 
connected  with  the  words  which  go  before,  or  with  those 
which  come  after. 

Example.  "As  it  is  necessary  to  have  the  head  clear,  as  well  as  the 
complexion,  to  be  perfect  in  this  part  of  learning,  I  rarely  mingle 
with  the  men,  but  frequent  the  tea  tables  of  the  ladies.":}: 

Analysis.  Whether,  "  to  be  perfect  in  this  part  of  learning,  is  it  ne- 
<:essary  to  have  the  head  clear  as  well  as  the  complexion  ;"  or,  ''  to 
be  perfect  in  this  part  of  learning,  does  he  rarely  mingle  with  the 
men,  but  frequent  the  tea  tables  of  the  ladies.'*"  Which  ever  of  these 
be  sense,  the  words  ought  to  have  been  otherwise  arranged. 

*  Guardian.  So.  4.  t  Construction  louche^  it  is  called  by  llie  French# 

h  Guartiian,  No.  10, 

!1 


llfif  The  dnintelligihlr^ 

CHAPTER  VIL 

0F    THE  UNINTELLIGIBLE. 

^1}  i.  L'NDER  the  article  precision,  Chapfer  IV.  of  Book 
II.,  but  more  particularly  in  7//w5.  6.  .^rf.  181,  it  was  ob- 
served generally,  that  a  speaker  may  express  himself  ob- 
scurely, and  so  convey  his  meaning  imperfectly  to  the  mind 
of  the  hearer.  In  Chapter  VI.  of  this  book,  it  was  shewn, 
that  he  may  express  himself  ambiguously,  and  so  along  with 
his  own,  convey  a  meaning  entirely  different.  In  this 
Chapter,  we  shall  shew  that  he  may  even  express  himself 
Mnintelligiblyy  and  so  convey  no  meaning  at  all.  This  fault 
arises, 

1st.  From  great  confusion  of  thought,  accompanied  with 
intricacy  of  expression:  {Jrt.  121.  lllus.) 

2dly.  From  affectation  of  excellence  in  the  dicticm  : 
3dly.  From  a  total  want  of  meanino;.  '^^- 

First,  The  unintelligible  from  confu8io?i  of  thoughL 
204.  Language  is  the  meilium  through  which  tiie  senti- 
ments of  the  writer  are  perceived  by  the  reader.  [Art, 
181.)  And  though  the  impurity,  or  the  grossness  of  the 
medium,  will  render  the  image  obscure  or  indistinct,  yet  no 
purity  in  the  medium  will  suffice  for  exhibiting  a  distinct 
and  unvarying  image  of  a  confused  and  unsteady  object.* 

Illxis.  There  is  a  sort  of  half- formed  thoughts,  which  we  sometime? 
find  a  writer  impatient  to  give  the  world,  before  he  himself  is  fully 
possessed  of  them.  Now,  if  the  writer  himself  pcreeive  confusedly 
and  imperfectly  the  sentiments  which  he  would  communicate,  it  is  a 
thousand  to  one,  the  reader  will  not  perceive  them  at  all. 

Example  \.  In  simple  sentences.  Sir  Richard  Steele,  though  a  man 
ef  sense  and  genius,  was  a  great  master  in  thi^  style  ;  speaking  of 
some  of  the  coAee-house  politicians,  "  I  have  observed,"  says  he> 
'*  that  the  superiority  among  these,  proceeds  from  an  opinion  of  gal- 
lantry and  fashion."! 

Analysis.  This  sentence,  considered  in  itself,  evidently  conveys  no 
meaning.  First,  it  is  not  said,  whose  opinion,  their  own,  or  that  of 
others;  secondly,  it  is  not  said  what  opinion,  or  of  what  sort,  favour- 
able or  unfavotfrable,  true  or  false,  but  in  general  an  opinion  of  gal- 
lantry and  fashion^  which  contains  no  definite  expression  of  any  mean- 

.  •  The  distinctions  in  some  departments  of  this  Grammar  of  Rhetoric,  are  so  nice, 
that  they  diifcr  not  in  kind,  but  in  dipree,  from  one  another  :  yet,  if  the  internjediate 
»tfps,by  which  wi  have  passed  from  one  to  the  oth  r.  be  removed,  we  shall  at  once 
yerceive  how  necessary  they  wei-e  to  a  full  d-veiopment  of  the  art.  Without  attend- 
ing to  this  remark,  they  who  have  but  suprrtlcially  erlanced  at  this  chapior.  would  be 
re.idy  to  coasidcr  it  a  repetition  of  the  arliclu  precisioB,yet  a  it  totally  distinct,  «♦ 
very  liule  sagacity  may  soon  dz^cover. 
t  Spe«t3tor,  Kq.  49. 


The  Unintelligible.  i  1 T 

>vig.  W  iiii  the  joint  assistance  of  the  context,  reflection  aad  conjec- 
ture, we  shall  perhaps  conclude  that  the  author  intended  to  say,  that 
the  rank  among^  these  politicians,  was  determined  by  the  opinion  gen- 
erally entertained  of  the  rank  in  point  of  gallantry  and  fashion  that 
«ach  of  them  had  attained. 

Example  2.  Of  a  complex  sentence,  which  conveys  indeed  the  dull- 
est species  of  the  unintelligible.  ''  The  serene  aspect  of  these  writers^ 
joined  with  the  great  encouragement  I  observe  is  given  to  another, 
•or,  what  is  indeed  to  be  suspected,  in  which  he  indulges  himself,  con- 
firmed nie  in  the  notion  1  have  of  the  prevalence  of  ambition  this 
way."^ 

Jinalysw.  Was  it  the  serene  aspect  of  these  writers  that  confirmed 
hira  in  the  notion  h«  had  of  the  prevalence  of  ambition  ?  And  if  so, 
>\as  the  prevalence  of  this  ambition  a  prevalence  to  obtain,  or  to  pre- 
serve, a '*  serene  aspect  ?  or  to  become  writers.'"'  Again,  was  great 
encouragement  given  to  another  man  to  assume  a  serene  aspect,  if  he 
?iad  none,  or  to  preserve  it  if  he  ^lad  such  a  thing  ^  Joined  to  the 
great  encoi^ragement  given  to  another,  to  do  what.''  "In  which  he  in- 
dulges himself."  In  what.''  this  encouragement,  or  a  seiene  aspect? 
In  short,  the  writer  talks  downright  nonsense,  for  the  sentence  admits 
Slot  of  decomposition. 

205.  Setondly,  The  nnintelligible  from  affectation  of 
excellence.  In  this  there  is  always  something  figurative; 
but  the  figures  are  remote,  and  things  heterogeneous  are 
combined. 

Example  1,  In  a  simple  sentence.  The  Guardian,  speaking  of  meek- 
ness and  humility,  says,  "This  temper  of  soul,  keeps  our  understand^ 
ing  tight  about  ws."t 

Analysis.  This  is  an  incongruous  jnetapfeior.  The  understanding  is 
made  a  girdle  to  our  other  mental  faculties  ;  for  the  fastening  of  which 
girdle,  meekness  and  humility  serve  as  a  buckle. 

Example  2.  Yet  when  that  flood  in  its  own  depths  was  drown'd, 
It  left  behind  it  false  and  slippery  ground.^ 

Analysis.  The  first  of  these  lines  is  marvellously  nonsensical.  It  in* 
forms  us  of  a  prodigy  never  heard  of  before,  a  drowned  flood ;  nay, 
which  is  still  more  extraordinary,  a  flood  that  was  so  excessively 
deep,  that  after  leaving  nothing  else  to  drown,  it  turned /e/o-t/e-5e,  and 
drowned  itself.  And  doubtless,  if  a  flood  can  be  in  danger  of  drown- 
ing itself,  the  deeper  it  is,  the  danger  must  be  the  greater.  So  far,  at 
Jeast,  the  author  talks  consequentially.  The  first  line  itself  has  no 
meaning  ;  but  the  author  intended  to  say,  "  When  the  waters  of  the 
deluge  had  subsided." 

Example  3.  In  a  complex  sentence.  ''  If  the  savour  of  things  lies 
^ross  to  honesty,  if  the  fancy  be  florid,  and  the  appetite  high  towards 
*be  subaltern  beauties  and  lower  order  of  worldly  symmetries  and  pro- 
portions, the  conduct  will  infaliibly  turn  this  latter  way."§ 

Analysis.  Here  we  have  lofty  images  and  high  sounding  words,  but 
ivherc  shall  we  find  the  sense  ?  The  meaning,  where  there  is  a  mean- 
ing, cannot  be  said  to  be  communicated  and  adorned  by  the  words, 
but  is  rather  buried  under  them.     The  French  critics  call  this  species 

*  Giiavdiaji,  No.  1.    t  Ibid,    i  Dryden's  Panegyric  on  the  Coronation  of  Charl(,e8  U/- 

♦  CJSiar4ct',ri5;Jcs,  Vol.  lll.^i§c.  II.  ?b  2» 


il8  T/ie  Unintelligible. 

of  writing,  or  of  figure,  galhnatias ;  the  English  call  it  bombast  j  anu 
we  may  properly  define  it  the  sublime  of  nonsense. 

Example  4.  "But  wliat  can  one  do  ?  or  how  dispense  with  these 
darker  disquisitions,  and  moon-light  voyagers,  when  we  have  to  deal 
with  a  sort  of  inoon-blind  wits,  who,  though  very  acute  and  able  in 
their  kind,  may  be  said  to  renounce  day-light,  and  extinguish,  in  a 
ananner,  the  bright  visible  world,  by  allowing  us  to  know  nothing  be- 
side what  wc  can  prove,  by  strict  and  formal  demonstration."* 

Analysis.  It  must  be  owned,  that  the  condition  of  those  wits  is  truly 
deplorable;  for  though  very  acute  and  able  in  their  kind,  yet  being 
moon-light  blind,  they  cannot  see  by  night  ;  and  having  renounced 
day-light,  they  will  not  see  by  day  ;  so  that,  for  any  use  they  have  of 
iheir  eyes,  they  arc  no  better  than  stone  blind.  It  is  astonishing  too, 
that  the  reason  for  rendering  a  moon-light  voyage  indispensable,  is, 
that  wc  have  moon-blind  persons  only  for  our  company',  the  very  rea- 
son which,  to  our  ordinary  understanding,  would  render  such  a  voy^ 
■■'XQ  improper. 

iita  species,  inquit,  ast  cerebrum  aon  habet. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

tHE  %'AllIOUS  SPECIES  OP  THE  UNINTELLIGIBLE. 

206.  THE  UNINTELLIGIBLE, jO-om  ivunt  of  meaning  in 
the  writer,  proceeds  from  vacuity  of  thought.     Here  the 
entence  is  generally  simple  ia  its  structure,  and  the  con- 
struction easy. 

Illus.  Let  us  contrast  this  with  the  unintelligible  proceeding  from 
confusion  of  thought,  accompanied  with  intricacy  of  expression.  In 
this  last,  you  hesitate  at  certain  intervals,  and  retrace  your  progress  ; 
iinding  yourself  at  a  loss  in  the  terms,  and  at  a  loss  for  the  meaning,  you 
then  try  to  construe  the  sentence,  and  to  ascertain  the  signification  of 
the  words.  By  these  means,  and  by  the  help  of  the  context,  you  will 
possibly  come  at  last  i\\  what  the  author  would  have  said.  In  the  un- 
intelligible, {xomwant  of  meaning ,  provided  words,  glaringly  unsuita- 
ble, are  not  combined,  you  proceed  without  hesitation  or  doubt.  You 
never  suspect,  that  you  do  not  uuderstaud  a  sentence,  the  terms  of 
which  are  familiar  to  you,  and  of  which  you  perceive  distinctly  the 
t'rammatlc.'il  order.  But  if,  by  any  uii-ans,  you  are  induced  to  think 
more  closely  on  the  subject,  and  to  pi;ruso  the  words  a  second  time 
more  attentively  ;  you  will  then  begin  to  suspect  them,  and  at  length 
discover,  that  they  contain  nothing,  but  either  an  identical  proposition, 
which  conveys  no  knowledge,  or  a  proposition  of  that  kind,  of  whicli 
you  cannot  so  much  as  affirm,  that  it  is  either  true  or  false.  Sometimes 
pompous  metaphors,  and  sonorous  phrases,  are  mjudiciously  employed 
to  add  dignitv  to  the  most  trivial  conceptions  ;  sometimes  they  are 
uade  the  vehicles  for  nonsense.  In  madmen  there  is  as  great  a  varie- 
'y  of  character,  as  in  those  who  enjoy  the  use  of  their  reason.    }n  lik<= 

*  Chara«»ensties,  V«>.  IIL  Misc.  IV. 


'The  Leafned  ISfonsense. 

icinnf;! ,  it  may  be  said  of  nonsense,  that,  in  writing  it,  there  is  as 
great  scope  for  variety  of  style,  as  there  is  in  writing  sense. 

207.  Fii'st,  the  puerile,  which  is  always  produced  wh^n 
an  author  runs  on  in  a  species  of  verbosity,  amusing  his  rea- 
der with  synoiiymous  terms,  and  identical  propositions,  well 
turned  periods,  and  high  sounding  words;  but  at  the  same 
time,  using  those  words  so  indefinitely,  that  the  reader  can 
either  atHx  no  meaning  to  them  at  all,  or  he  may  almost  affix 
any  meaning  that  he  pleases. 

Example.  "  Whatever  renders  a  period  sweet  and  pleasant,  rnakes 
it  also  graceful  ;'  a  good  ear  is  the  gift  of  Nature,  it  may  be  much  im- 
proved, but  not  acquired  by  art ;  whoever  is  possessed  of  it  will 
scarcely  need  dry  critical  precepts  to  enable  him  to  judge  of  a  true 
rythmus,  and  n.elody  of  composition  :  just  members,  accurate  propor- 
tions, a  musical  symphony,  magnificent  figures,  and  that  decorumy 
vvhich  is  the  result  of  all  these,  are  unison  to  the  human  mind  ;  we 
are  so  framed  by  nature,  that  their  charm  is  irresistable.  Hence  ail 
ages  and  nations  have  been  smit  with  the  love  of  the  Muses.'"* 

Analyds.  Through  the  whole  paragraph,  the  author  proceeds  in  the 
same  careless  and  desultory  manner,  atTording  at  times  some  glim-- 
merings  of  sense,  and   perpetually  ringing  the  changes  in  a  lew  fa 
vourite  words  and  phrases. 

Kxamplc  2.     From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony. 

This  universal  frame  began  ; 

From  harmony  to  harmony, 

Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran. 

The  diapason  closing  fall  in  man.f 
Jinulyfis.  This  is  of  the  same  signature  with  the  former  ;  there  is  nor 
even  a  glimpse  of  meaning  through   all  the   compass   of  the  words  ; 
but    in  writings  of  tiiis   stamp,  we  must   accept  of  sound,  instead  of' 
sense,  being  assured,  at  least,  that  if  we  meet  with  little  that  can  in 
form  the  judgment,  we  shall  find  notiiing  that  will  ofiiud  the  ear. 

208.  The  learned  nonsense  is  another  species  of  tlic 
unintelligible :  and  scholastic  theology  is  considered  the 
most  fruitful  source  of  this  spe.cies  of  nonsense,  unless,  per- 
jiaps,  we  include  also  antiquarian  researches.  The  more, 
incomprehensible  the  subject  is,  the  greater  scope  has  t'se 
declaimer  to  talk  plausibly,  without  any  n|eanijig.  Also 
the  deeper  any  speculation  be  buried  in  the  darkness  of  re- 
mote antiquity,  the  wider  the  field  for  most  excellent  mat- 
ter of  contemplative  amazement. 

Jllus.  To  both  these  styles  of  th^  unintelligible,  the  lines  of  the 
bard,  addressed  to  the  patroness  of  sophistry,  as  well  as  duhiess,  arr 
admirably  adapted, 

"  Explain  upon  a  thing  till  all  men  doubt  it; 
And  write  about  it,  goddess,  and  about  it.';!: 

*  GtHldes  on  the  composition  of  theAncients,  Sect.  1. 
I  l>)-)den's  Ode  for  St,  Cecelia's  day.  %  Dunciatk 

11* 


i20  The  UnintelUgibi': 

Example.     ''•  Nothing-  is  there  to  come,  ami  luiniiug^  pc  . 
But  an  eternal  now  does  always  last.'* 

Analysis.  What  an  insatiable  thirst  hath  this  bastard  pl.iio>^ji>n>  io< 
absurdity  and  rontsadiction  !  In  tliese  school  metaphysics,  a  7iow 
thai  lasts  ;  that  is,  an  instant  which  continues  during;  successire  in- 
stants ;  an  eternal  now  ;  an  instant  that  is  no  instant,  and  an  eternity 
that  is  no  eternity,  is  a  mere  fij^ment  of  human  imagination,  a  rhap 
sody  of  the  transcendent  unintelligible. 

209.  The  third  species  we  shall  denominate  the  profound. 
It  is  most  commonly  to  be  met  with  in  political  writings. 
No  where  else,  in  the  present  day,  do  we  find  the  merest 
nothings  set  off  with  an  air  of  solemnity,  as  the  result  of 
very  deep  thouglit  and  sage  reflection.  But  let  us  hear  a 
politician  of  the  old  school. 

Example.  'Tis  agreed,  that  in  a:  ,..,.,,,. 

and  unlimited  power,  which  naturally  and  oiiginally  seems  to  bs; 
placed  in  the  whole  body,  wherever  the  executive  part  of  it  lies.  This 
holds  of  the  body  natural  ;  for  wherever  we  place  the  beginnings  of 
inotion,  whether  from  the  head,  or  the  heart,  or  the  animal  sjiirits  in 
2^eneral,  the  body  moves  and  acts  by  consent  of  all  its  parts. f 

Analysis.  The  first  sentence  in  this  passage  contains  one  of  the  most 
iiackneyed  maxims  of  the  writers  on  politics;  a  maxim,  however,  02 
which  it  will  be  more  difficult  than  is  commonly  imagined,  to  discov- 
er, not  the  justness,  but  the  sense.  The  illustration  from  the  materia! 
body,  contained  in  the  second  sentence,  is  indeed  more  glaringly  non^ 
sensical.  It  is  utterly  inconceivable  io  affirm  what  it  is  that  consti 
futes  this  consent  of  all  the  parts  of  the  body,  which  must  be  obtained 
i»reviously  to  every  motion.  Yet  the  whole  paragraph  from  which 
V  lis  quotation  is  taken,  has  in  it  su<  h  a  speciousness,  that  it  is  a  ques- 
tion, if  even  a  judicious  r.  ad.r  uUl  r.i.t  uw  Jh.-  UKt  n<Mii<v;il  \u-  v.-ovi. 
ble  of  the  defect. 

210.  The  marvellu  .  ..-  ■...  i.i,t  r,>^.iC-  i.i  aKi-cu^^c  il.u., 
ve  shall  exemplify.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  this  kind, 
iiat  it  astonishes,  and  even  confounds,  by  the  boldness  of 
'le  affirmations,  v'hich  always  appear  flatly  to  contradict 

'iie  plainest  dictates  of  comnlon  sense,  a*i<l  thn«  to  involve 

A  manifest  absurdity. 

Exainple.  *'  Nature  in  herself  is  unseemly,  uiki  ;ie  uno  copies  he; 
iorviloly,  and  without  artifice,  will  ;ihvays  produce  something  poor, 
Mid  of  u  mean  taste.  What  is  called  load  in  colours  and  lights,  can 
>ily  proceed  from  a  profound  knowledge  in  the  values  of  colours,  and 
I  om  an  admirable  industry,  which  makes  the  painted  objects  appear 
iiore  true,  if  I  may  say  so,  than  the  real  ones.  In  this  sense,  it  may 
'!«  asserteti.  that  in  Rubens'  pieces,  art  is  above  nature,  and  nature  on- 
:y  a  copy  of  that  great  master's  works.'  ; 

•  Cowley's  Davideis,  Book  I. 

f  Swift's  Discourse  of  the  Contests  and  Dissentions  in  Athens  and  Rome. 

t  *  La  N«Jture  est  ingrttc  il'cl'e  mcme  et  qui  s  ^ttacheroit  a  la  copier  simp'cmcnt 
comme  cMcest,  et  sans  artifice,  feroit  toujours  que'que  chose  de  pauvrc  et  d'un  tre» 
QCtit  gout.    Ce  que  voua  nommei  cxagentions  dam  let  couleurs,  ct  dans  Icsliiml^res 


The  lhiniellt2ibl€4 


Hi- 


^inalysis.  What  a  strang-e  subversion,  or  inversion,  if  you  will,  of 
?tll  the  most  obvious  and  hitherto  undisputed  truths  !  Not  satisfied 
with  aftinning  the  unseemliness  of  every  production  of  Nature,  whoni 
this  philosopher  has  discovered  to  be  an  arrant  bungler,  and  the  im- 
mense superiority  of  human  art,  whose  humble  scholar  dame  Niture 
might  be  proud  to  be  accounted,  be  rises  to  asseverations,  which  shock 
all  our  notions,  and  utterly  defy  the  powers  of  apprehension.  Paint- 
ing is  found  to  be  the  original;  or  rather  Rubens'  pictures  are  the 
original,  and  nature  is  the  copy  ;  and  indeed  very  consequentially,  the 
former  is  represented  as  the  standard  by  which  the  beauty  and  perfec- 
tions of  the  latter  are  to  be  estimated.  Nor  do  the  qualifying  phrases, 
*'  If  I  may  say  so,"  and^'in  this  sense  it  may  be  asserted,"  make  here 
the  smallest  odds.  For  as  this  sublime  critic  has  no  where  hinted  what 
sense  it  is  which  he  denominates  "this  sense,"  no  reader  will  be  able 
to  conjecture,  what  the  author  might  have  said,  and  not  absurdly  said 
to  the  same  effect.  When  the  expression  is  strapped  of  the  absurd 
meaning,  (.irt.  204.)  there  remains  nothing  but  balderdash,  an  un- 
meaning jumble  of  words,  which  at  first  seem  to  announce  some  great 
discovery. 

Example  2.  Witness,  as   another  specimen  of  the  same  kind,  the 
famous  prostration  of  an  heroic  lover,  in  one  of  Dryden's  plays  : 
"My  wound  is  great,  because  it  is  so  small." 

Analysis.  The  nonsense  of  this  was  properly  exposed,  by  an  extem- 
pore verse  of  the  Duke  of  Bucking^ham,  who,  on  hearing  this  line,  ex- 
claimed, in  the  house, 

It  would  be  greater,  were  it  none  at  all. 

Conclusion.  Thus  have  we  illustrated,  as  far  as  example  can  illus- 
trate, some  of  the  principal  varieties  to  be  remarked  in  unmeaning 
sentences  or  nonsense  ;  the  puerile,  the  learned,  the  profound,  antX 
the  marvellous  ;  together  with  those  other  classes  of  the  unintelligible, 
arising  either  from  confusion  of  thought,  accompanied  with  intricacy 
of  expression,  or  from  an  excessive  aim  at  excellence  in  the  style  and 
manner. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


OF  THE   HARMONY  OF  PERIODS. 

211.  IN  the  HARMONY  OF  PERIODS,  two  tliings  niaj  be 
considered.  First,  agreeable  sound,  or  modulation  in  gene- 
ral, without  any  particular  expression:  next,- the  sound  so 
ordered,  as  to  become  expressive  of  the  sens^^jLThe  first  is 
the  more  common  ;  the  second,  the  higher  beaf 

est  une  admirable  industree  que  fait  paroitre  les  objects  peints  plus  ^^l^lsb  s'i'  f^ut 
ainsi  dire,  que  les  veritables  memes.  C'est  ainsi  que  les  tableaux  >n|HBenssont 
plus  beaux  que  la  Nature,  la  quell-:  semble  n'etre  que  la  opie  des  ouvrape^HfejB''»nd* 
homrrc."  Receuil  cle  divers  ouvrage  aur  la  peinturc  ct  Ic  coloris.  Par  M^l^^ilCsT 
Paris,  f  775.  p.  ai^. 


rnc  llarmony  of  renoih 

i,</o.  .\i,.c.,<ioiu  ^jound,  in  general,  is  the  propcuv  oi  a  ,vuu  tuu-^ 
strncted  sentence.  This  beauty  of  musicixl  construction  in  prose  de- 
pends upon  two  things  ;  the  choice  of  words,  and  the  arrangement  of 
them. 

212.  Those  words  are  most  agreeable  to  the  ear  which 
are  composed  of  smooth  and  liquid  sounds,  where  there  is 
a  proper  intermixture  of  vowels  and  consonants;  without 
too  many  harsh  consonants  grating  upon  each  other;  or  too 
many  open  vowels  in  succession,  to  cause  a  hiatus,  or  disa- 
greeable aperture  of  the  mouth.     {Jllus,  Jirt.  1 3.) 

lUus.  It  may  always  be  assumed  as  a  principle,  that,  uJiatevei 
sounds  arc  diflkult  in  pronunciation,  are,  in  tlje  same  proportion, 
liarsh  and  painful  to  the  ear.  Vowels  i;ive  softness ;  consonants, 
strength  to  the  sounds  of  words.  The  music  of  language  requires  a 
iust  proportion  of  both;  and  it  will  be  hurt,  and  rendered  either  grat- 
iug  orefleminate,  by  an  excess  of  either.  Long  words  are  commonly 
more  agreeable  to  the  ear  than  monosyllables.  They  please  it  by  the 
composition  or  succession  of  sounds,  which  they  present  to  it;  and, 
accordingly,  the  most  musical  hinguages  abound  most  in  polysyllables. 
Among  words  of  any  lenj'th,  those  are  the  most  musical,  which  do  not 
run  wholly  either  upon  long  or  short  syllables,  but  are  composed  of 
an  intermixture  of  them  ;  such  as,  repent,  produce^  velocity,  ceUritij, 
independent,  impttuosity. 

213.  The  harmony  which  results  from  a  proper  arrange- 
ment of  the  words  and  members  of  a  period,  is  complex, 
and  of  great  nicety.  For  let  the  words  themselves  be  evei' 
so  well  chosen,  let  them  sound  ever  so  well,  yet,  if  they  be 
ill  disposed,  the  music  of  the  sentence  is  utterly  lost.  (ISco- 
liuniyp.  86.  .^rL  138.) 

Jllits.  1.   In  the  harmonic 
writer  whatever,  ancient  or  niodtin,  t([iiais  t  iccro.      h«   iiail   stiuli-.u 
this  w  ith  care  ;  and  was  fond,  perhaps  to  <>xce!ift,  of  wliat  he  calls  the 
^' p'cna   ac    niujierosa    oratio.'       W  «•    ihtiI    onlv    unm    his   writings   to 
lind  instances  that  will  render  ili  >iblc 

10  every  ear. 

2.  As  an  instance  of  a  musical  srntcnt  o  in  our  own  language,  we 
may  take  the  following  from  Milton's  Treatise  on  Education  :  "  \Vc 
shall  conduct  you  to  a  hill-side,  laborious,  intieed,  at  the  first  ascent  ; 
but  else,  so  smooth,  so  groen,  so  full  of  goodly  prospects,  and  melodi- 
ous sounds  on  every  side,  that  the  harp  of  Orpheus  was  not  more 
charming." 

Jiiiali/sis.  Every  thing  in  this  sentence  conspires  to  promote  the  har- 
mony. T!ie  words  are  happily  chosen;  full  of  liquids  and  soft  sounds; 
laborious,  smooth,  green,  i^oodly^  melodious,  charming  :  and  these  words 
so  artfully  arrang'^d,  that  were  we  to  "her  the  collocation  of  any  one  of 
them,  we  should,  presently ,  be  sensible  of  the  melody's  suflering.  For, 
let  us  observe,  how  tiaely  the  members  of  the  period  swell  one  above 
another.  '•  So  smooth,  so  green," — '  so  full  of  goodly  prospects,  and 
melodioiis  sounds  on  everv  .«,icle  ;" — till  the  ear,  prepared  by  this  grad,- 
iial  rise,^s  conducted  to  that  full  close  on  which  it  rests  w  ith  pleasure  ;, 

'    "-'^  tbe  har^  of  Urpb^us  v^as  uot  more  charming ,' 


r 


The  Harmony  of  Periods.  1£3 

^^14.  The  structure  of  periods,  then,  being  susceptible  of 
of  a  very  sensible  melody,  our  next  inquiry  should  be,  how 
this  melodious  structure  is  formed,  what  are  the  principles 
of  it,  and  by  what  laws  is  it  regulated  ?     (^drt,  138.  lllus.) 

Obs.  The  ancient  rhetoricians  have  entered  into  a  very  minute  and 
paj*ticular  detail  of  this  subject;  more  particular,  indeed,  than  into 
any  other  that  regards  language. 

lllus.  They  hold,  that  to  prose,  as  well  as  to  verse,  there  belong  cer- 
tain numbers,  less  strict  indeed,  yet  such  as  can  be  ascertained  by  rule. 
They  go  so  far  as  to  specify  the  feet,  as  they  are  called,  that  is,  the 
succession  of  long  and  short  syllables,  which  should  enter  into  the  dif- 
ferent members  of  a  sentence,  and  to  shew  what  the  effect  of  each  of 
these  will  be.  Wherever  they  treat  of  the  structure  of  sentences,  it  is 
illways  the  music  of  them  that  makes  the  principal  object.  Cicero  and 
Quinctilian  are  full  of  this.  The  other  qualities  of  precision,  unity, 
and  strength,  which  we  consider  as  of  great  importance,  they  handle 
slightly;  but  when  they  come  to  the  ^^  jundura  et  ninnerus^''  th#modu- 
iation  and  harmony,  there  they  are  copious.  Dyonisius.  of  Halicar- 
nassus,  one  of  the  most  judicious  eritics  of  antiquity,  wrote  a  treatise 
on  the  Composition  of  Words  in  a  Sentence,  which  is  altogether  con- 
fined to  their  musical  effect.  He  makes  the  excellency  of  a  sentence 
to  consist  in  four  things  ;  first,  in  the  sweetness  of  single  sounds  ;  se- 
condly, in  the  composition  of  sounds  ;  that  is,  the  number*^  or  feet; 
thirdly,  in  change,  or  variety  of  sound;  and,  fourthly,  in  sound  suited 
to  the  sense.  On  all  these  points,  he  writes  with  great  accuracy  and 
refinement,  and  is  very  worthy  of  being  consulted. 

2.  The  ancient  languages  of  Greece  and  Rome,  were  much  more 
susceptible,  than  our  language  is,  of  the  graces  and  the  powers  of 
melody.  The  quantities  of  their  syllables  were  more  fixed  and  deter- 
mined; their  words  were  longer  and  more  sonorous  ;  their  method  of 
varying  the  terminations  of  nouns  aid  verbs,  both  introduced  a  greater 
variety  of  liquid  sounds,  and  freed  them  from  that  multiplicity  of  lit- 
tle auxiliary  words  which  we  are  obliged  to  employ  ;  aiad,  what  is  of 
the  greatest  consequence,  the  inversions  which  their  languages  allow- 
ed, gave  them  the  power  of  placing  their  words  in  whatever  order 
was  most  suited  to  a  musical  arrangement.  Ail  these  were  great  ad~ 
%'antages,  which  they  enjoyed  above  us,  for  harmony  of  period. 

215.  The  doctrine  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  critics,  on 
this  head,  has  misled  some  to  imagine,  that  it  might  be 
equally  applied  to  our  tongue ;  and  that  our  prose  writing 
might  be  regulated  by  spondees  and  trochees,  and  iambuses 
and  pseons,  and  other  metrical  feet. 

Obs.  1.  But,  first,  our  words  cannot  be  measured,  or,  at  least,  can 
be  measured  very  imperfectly  by  any  feet  of  this  kind.  For,  the 
4|uantity,  the  length  and  shortness  of  our  syllables,  is  far  from  being  so 
fixed  and  subjected  to  rule,  as  in  the  Greek  and  Roman  tongues  ;  but 
very  often  left  arbitrary,  and  determined  only  by  the  emphasis  and  the 
sense. 

2.  Next,  though  our  prose  could  admit  of  such  a  metrical  regula- 
tion, yet  from  our  plainer  method  of  pronouncing  every  snecies  of 
discourse,  the  eft'ect  would  not  be  at  all  so  sensiijle  io  the  ear,  nor  bo 
relished  with  so  much  pleasure,  as  among  the  Greeks  aqd  Eoui^iis. 


124  Ttit  Harmony  of  Periods. 

3.  And,  lastly,  this  whole  doctrine  about  the  measmes  and  tltim-^ 
bcrs  of  prose,  even  as  it  has  been  ftehveied  by  ihe  ancient  rhetorician's 
themselves,  is,  in  truth,  in  a  jjreat  measure,  loose  and  uncertain.  R 
apfiearsj  indeed,  that  the  melody  of  discourse  was  a  matter  of  infinite- 
ly more  attention  to  them,  than  ever  it  bis  been  to  the  moderns.  Bat 
though  they  write  a  great  deal  about  it,  they  have  never  been  able  to 
reduce  it  to  any  rul .:,  (vhich  could  be  of  real  use  in  practice. 

lUus.  If  we  consult  Cicero's  Orator,  where  this  point  is  discussed 
with  the  most  minuteness,  we  shall  see  how  much  these  ancie-it  critics 
diflored  from  one  another,  about  the  feet  proper  for  the  cooclusion, 
and  other  parts  of  a  sentence  ;  and  how  much,  after  all,  was  left  to 
the  judgment  of  the  ear.  Nor,  indeed,  is  it  possible  to  give  precis? 
rules  roncerninj^  this  matter,  in  any  lan«^;iH«je  ;  as  all  prose  composi- 
tion must  be  allowe<l  to  run  loose  in  its  munbers  ;  and,  accordin^^  as 
the;  tenor  of  a  discourse  varies,  the  modulation  of  sentences  must 
vary  infinitely. 

216.  But  thouj^h  this  musical  a»'rano;emeMt  runnot  be  re- 
duced into  a  sysfem,  every  one  who  studies  to  write  with 
grace,  or  to  pronounce  in  public  with  success,  will  find  him- 
self obliged  to  attend  to  it  not  a  little.  But  it  is  his  ear, 
cultivated  by  attention  and  practice,  that  must  chiefly  direct 
him.  For  any  rules  that  can  be  given  on  this  subject,  are 
very  general.  There  are  some  rules,  however,  which  may 
be  of  use  to  form  the  ear  lothe  proper  harmony  of  discourse. 

.217.  There  are  two  things  on  which  the  music  of  a  sen- 
tence chiefly  depends.  These  are,  the  proper  distribution 
of  the  several  members  of  Ihe  sentence  ;  and,  the  close  or 
cadence  of  the  whole,     (^^rt,  \S4.) 

218.  First,  the  distribution  of  the  several  members.  It 
is  of  importance  to  observe,  that,  whatever  is  easy  and  agree- 
able to  the  organs  of  speech,  always  sounds  j>;rateful  to  the 
car.  While  a  ])eriod  is  going  on,  the  termination  of  each  of 
its  members  forms  a  pause,  or  rest,  in  pronouncing;  and 
these  rests  should  be  so  distributed,  as  to  make  the  course  of 
the  breathing  easy,  and,  at  the  same  time,  should  fall  at  such 
distances,  as  to  bear  a  certain  musical  proportion  to  each 
other.     (Art  144.; 

Example  1.  "  This  discourse  concerning  the  easiness  of  God's  com- 
mands, does,  all  along,  suppose  and  acknowledge  the  difticulties  of 
the  first  entrance  upon  a  religious  course  ;  except  only  in  those  per- 
Bons  who  have  had  the  happiness  to  be  trained  up  to  religion  by  the 
easy  and  insensible  degrees  of  a  pious  and  virtuous  education."** 

^inalysis  Here  there  is  no  harmony  ;  nay,  ihere  is  some  degree  of 
Jharshness  and  unpleasantness:  owing  priucipally  to  this,  that  there  is^ 
properly,  no  more  thau  one  pause  or  rest  in  the  sentence,  falling 
betwixt  the  two  members  into  which  it  is  divided  ;  each  of  which  is 
>o  long,  as   to  ©ccasioB  a  considerable  stretch  of  the  br€«^th  in  pri** 

•  T^otsQnv 


The  Harmony  of  Periods,  125 

Esiamph  2.  Observe,  now,  on  the  other  hand,  the  ease  with  which 
the  following  sentence,  from  Sir  William  Temple,  glides  along,  and 
the  graceful  intervals  at  which  the  pauses  are  placed.  He  is  speak- 
ing sarcastically  of  man  :  "  But,  God  be  thanked,  his  pride  is  greater 
than  his  ignorance,  and  what  he  wants  in  knowledge,  he  supplies  by 
sufficiency.  When  he  has  looked  about  him,  as  far  as  he  can,  he  con- 
cludes, there  is  no  more  to  be  seen  ;  when  he  is  at  the  end  of  his  line, 
he  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  ;  when  he  has  shot  his  best,  he  is  sure 
none  ever  did,  or  even  can,  shoot  better  or  beyond  it.  His  own  reason 
he  holds  to  be  the  certain  measure  of  truth  ;  and  his  own  knowledge, 
«f  what  is  possible  in  nature."* 

Analysis.  Here  every  thing  is,  at  once,  easy  to  the  breath,  and 
grateful  to  the  ear  ;  and,  :t  is  this  sort  of  flowing  measure,  this  regular 
and  proportional  division  of  the  members  of  his  sentences,  which 
renders  Sir  William  Temple's  style  always  agreeable.  We  must 
observe,  at  the  same  tii»e,  that  a  sentence,  with  too  many  rests,  and 
these  placed  at  intervals  too  apparently  measured  and  regular,  is  apt 
to  gavour  of  aflectation. 

219.  The  next  thing  to  be  attended  to,  is  the  close  or  ca- 
dence of  the  whole  sentence,  which,  as  it  is  always  the  part 
most  sensible  to  the  ear,  demands  the  greatest  care.  "  Let 
there  be  nothing  harsh  or  abrupt  in  tlic  conclusion  of  the 
sentence,  on  which  the  mind  pauses  and  rests.  This  is  the 
most  material  part  in  the  structure  of  discourse.  Here  ev- 
ery hearer  expects  to  be  gratified  ;  here  his  applause  breaks 
forth."! 

220.  The  only  important  rule  that  can  be  given  here,  i?3 
that  when  we  aim  at  dignity  or  elevation,  the  sound  should 
be  made  to  grow  to  the  last ;  the  longest  members  of  the  pe- 
riod, and  the  fullest  and  most  sonorous  words,  should  be 
reserved  to  the  conclusion. 

Example.  "  It  fills  the  mind  (i.  e.  sight)  with  the  largest  variety  of 
ideas  ;  converses  with  its  objects  at  the  greatest  distance  ;  and  con- 
tinues the  longest  in  action,  without  being  tired  or  satiated  with  its 
proper  enjoyments. "t 

Jiv.alysis.  Every  reader  must  be  sensible  of  a  beauty  here,  both  in 
the  fropcr  division  of  the  members  and  pauses,  and  the  manner  in 
whit  h  the  sentence  is  rounded,  and  conducted  to  a  full  and  harmoni- 
ous close.     The  sight  fills  the  mind  with  the  largest  variety  of  ideas, 

*  Or  tlu5  instance.  He  is  addressing  himself  to  Lady  Essex ,  upon  the  death  of 
ker  child :  "  I  was  once  in  hope,  that  what  was  so  violent  could  not  be  long ;  but, 
whtn  I  observed  your  grief  to  grow  stronger  with  age,  and  to  increase,  like  a  stream, 
the  farther  it  ran;  when  I  saw  it  draw  out  to  such  unhappy  consequences,  and  to 
threaten  no  less  than  your  child,  jour  lu alt h  and  your  lif,  1  could  no  longer  tor- 
bear  this  endeavour,  nor  end  it  without  begginp  of  you,  for  (iod's  sake  and  for  your 
own,  for  your  cinldreji  and  your  frieiids,  your  countr;);  and  your  family,  that  jou 
would  no  longer  abandon  yourself  to  a  disconsolate  passion  ;  but  that  you  would,  at 
length,  awaken  your  piety,  give  way  to  your  prudence,  or,  at  least  rouse  the  in- 
vincible si)irit  of  the  Percy's,  that  riever  yet  shrunk  s»t  any  disaster." 

t  **  N.on  igitur  durum  sit.  ncque  abruptum,  quo  aiiimi.  velut.  respirant  ac  reficiun* 
tur.  Hsec  est  sedes  oratiouis  j  hoc  auditor  expeetat ;  hie  laus  ownis  declamat> 
€lmt]t5tij)an> 

t  Addison, 


I2G  The  Harmony  of  Periods, 

and  it  converses  with  them.  To  sentient  natures,  this  is  a  pleasure  ^ 
but  it  converses  with  them  at  the  greatest  distance,  and  must  necessa- 
rily increase  this  pleasure.  For  what  can  be  more  agreeable  than  the 
commerce  of  communication  with  distant  objects ;  but  how  is  this 
agrecableness  heightened,  by  its  being  kept  long  in  action,  and  that 
too  without  being  tired  or  satiated  with  its  proper  enjoyment.^ 

221.  The  same  holds  in  melody,  that  was  observed  to 
take  place  with  respect  to  significancj ;  that  a  iiilling  oft'  at 
the  end  is  always  injurious  to  the  object  which  the  speaker 
has  in  view.  Fur  this  reason,  particles,  pronouns,  and  little 
words,  are  as  ungracious  to  the  ear,  at  the  conclusion,  as  we 
formerly  shewed  they  were  inconsistent  with  strength  6f 
expression.     {JJrt.  ifG,  177,  178,  and  179.) 

Obs.  The  sense  and  the  sound  have  here  a  mutual  influence  on  each 
other.  That  which  hurts  the  ear,  seems  to  mar  the  strength  of  the 
meaning  ;  and  that  which  re;illy  degrades  the  sense,  in  consequence  of 
this  primary  cll'ect,  appears  also  to  liave  a  bad  sound. 

Example.  How  dis-igi^eeable  is  the  following  sentence  of  an  author, 
speaking  of  the  Trinity  !  "  It  is  a  mystery,  which  we  firmly  believe 
the  truth  of,  and  humbly  adore  the  depth  of."  And  how  easily  might 
it  have  been  nionded  by  this  iransposition  1  'Mt  is  a  mystery,  the 
trtith  of  which  wr  rmiiK  IxllrNc,  mul  th>;  depth  of  uhi*  h  we  huiub!'. 
adore." 

Corol:  In  gem 
guai^e,  requires  ntluT  the  la^t  ^\  lial,lf;  <•!  tlir  l;i>t  imt  on»'.  to  l)0  a  ^*>n'^ 
syllable.  Words  which  cou.sist  mostly  of  short  syllables,  as  contrary, 
particular  J  retrospect,  seldom  conclude  a  sentence  harmoniously,  unless 
a  train  of  long  syllables,  before,  has  rendered  them  agreeable  to  the 
ear. 

222.  Sentences,  so  constructed  as  to  make  the  sound  al- 
ways swell  and  grow  towards  the  end,  and  to  rest  either  on 
a  long  or  a  penult  long  syllable,  give  a  discourse  tlie  tone  of 
tleclamation.  The  ear  soon  li|comes  acquainted  with  the 
melody,  and  is  apt  to  be  cloyeil  with  it.  If  we  wouhl  keep 
up  the  attention  of  the  reader  or  hearer,  if  we  would  pre- 
serve vivacity  and  strength  in  our  composition,  we  must  be 
very  attentive  to  vary  our  measures. 

tUus.  TWs  regards  the  distribution  of  the  members,  a«;  \s 
cadence  of  the  period.  Sentence?  con.strurted  in  a  simihn  uiai.iK  r,. 
with  the  pauses  falling  at  equal  intervals,  should  never  follow  one 
another.  Short  sentencesi  should  be  intermixed  with  long  and  *well 
ing  ones,  to  lender  discourse  sprightly  a*  well  as  magnificent.  Even 
discords  properly  introduced,  abrupt  sounds,  departure.^  liom  rcgulav 
cadence,  have  sometimes  a  good  efiect.  jVlonotooy  is  the  great  fault 
into  which  writers  are  apt  to  fall,  who  are  fond  of  harmonioius  ar- 
rangement :  and  to  have  only  one  tune  or  measure,  is  not  much  better 
than  having  none  at  all.  A  very  vidgar  ear  will  enaVde  a  writer  to 
catch  some  one  melody,  and  to  form  the  rnn  of  his  sentences  accord- 
n§  to  it.     This  soon  proves  disgusting:  -   itist  and  correct  ear  is 


The  ffartmny  of  Periods,  i^Z 

toqiiisite  for  varying:  and  diversifying  the  melody,  and  hence  we  sel- 
dom meet  with  authors,  who  are  remarkably  happy  in  this  respect. 

223,  Though  attention  to  the  music  of  sentences  must 
not  be  neglected,  jet  it  must  also  be  kept  within  proper 
bounds:  for  all  appearances  of  an  author's  affecting  harmo- 
ny, are  disagreeable ;  especially  when  the  love  of  it  betrays 
him  so  far,  as  to  sacrifice,  in  any  instance,  perspicuity,  pre- 
cision, or  strength  in  sentiment,  to  sound.  (Example  1. 
.^rt.  206.) 

lUus.  1.  All  unmeaning-  words,  introduced  merely  to  round  the 
period,  or  fill  up  the  melody,  are  great  blemishes  in  writing.  They 
?,ire  childish  and  puerile  ornaments,  by  which  a  sentence  always  loses 
more  in  point  of  wciglit,  than  it  can  gain  by  such  additions  to  the 
beauty  of  its  sound. 

2.  Sense  has  its  own  harmony,  as  well  as  sound  ;  and,  where  the 
^sense  of  a  period  is  expressed  with  clearness,   force,  and  dignity,  the 

words  will  almost  always  strike  the  ear  agreeably  ;  at  least,  a  very 
moderate  attention  is  all  that  is  requisite  for  making  the  cadence  of 
such  a  period  pleasing :  and  the  effect  of  greater  attention  is  often  no 
other,  than  to  render  composition  languid  and  enervated. 

3.  After  all  tlie  labour  which  Quinctilian  bestows  on  regulating  thn 
measures  of  prose,  he  comes  at  last,  with  his  usual  good  sense,  to  this 
conclusion  :  ''  Upon  the  whole,  I  would  rather  choose  that  composi- 
tion should  appear  rough  and  harsh,  if  that  be  necessary,  than  that 
it  should  be  enervated  and  effeminate,  such  as  we  find  the  style  of  too 
many.  Some  sentences,  therefore,  which  we  have  studiously  formed 
mto  melody,  should  be  thrown  loose,  that  they  may  not  seem  too  much 
laboured ;  nor  ought  we  ever  to  omit  any  proper  or  expressive  word, 
for  the  sake  of  smoothing  a  period.'"* 

4.  Cicero,  as  we  have  elsewhere  observed,  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable patterns  of  a  harmonious  style.  His  love  of  it,  however,  is 
too  visible  ;'  and  the  pomp  of  his  numbers  sometimes  detracts  from  his 
strength. 

5.  That  noted  close  of  his,  esse  videati'.r,  which,  in  the  oration  Pro 
Lege  Manilla,  occurs  eleven  times,  exposed  him  to  censure  among  his 
contemporaries.  We  must  observe,  however,  in  defence  of  this  great 
orator,  that,  in  his  style,  there  is  a  remarkable  union  of  harmony  with 
ease,  which  is  always  a  great  beauty  ;  and  if  his  harmony  were  studi- 
ed, that  study  appears  to  have  cost  him  but  little  trouble. 

6.  Among  our  E^nglish  classics,  not  many  are  distmguished  for  musi- 
cal arrangement.  Milton,  in  some  of  hi.^  prose  works,  has  very  finely 
turned  periods  ;  but  the  writers  of  his  age  indulged  a  liberty  of  inver- 
.sion,  which  would  now  be  reckoned  contrary  to  purity  of  style :  and 
though  this  allowed  their  sentences  to  be  more  stately  and  .sonorous, 
yet  it  gave  them  too  much  of  a  Latinised  construction  and  order. 

7.  Of  English  writers,  Lord  Shaftesbury  is,  upon  the  whole,  the 
most  correct  in  his  numbers.  As  his  ear  was  delicate,  he  ha^  attend- 
ed to  music  in  all  his  sentences  ;  and  he  is  peculiarly  happy  ii»  this 

*  **  In  unlversum,  si  sit  necesse,  dnram  potivls  atque  asperam  compositionem  raa- 
iitii  esse,  quam  eileminatam  ac  cnervcm,  quaUs  apud  multos.  Idt^que.  vincta 
qnaedam  de  industria  sunt  so'venda,  ne  laborata  videantur ;  nequc  ulium  idoneum 
iut  antitm  verbum  prsetcnnittamus,  gratii  Icnitatii."    Lib.  ix.  c,  4, 

12 


128  The  Harmony  of  Periods. 

respect,  that  he  has  avoided  the  monotony  into  which  writef,«,  v>hx> 
study  the  grace  of  sound,  are  very  apt  to  fall,  and  has  diversified  his 
periods  wi(h  great  variety. 

8.  Addison  has  ajso  much  harmony  in  his  style  ;  more  easy  and 
smooth,  but  less  varied  than  Lord  Shaftesbury.  Sir  William  Temple 
is,  in  general,  very  flowing  and  agreeable.  Archbishop  Tillotson  is 
often  careless  and  langui'l ;  and  is  much  outdone  by  Bishop  Atterbury 
in  the  music  of  his  periods.  Dean  Swift  despised  musical  arrange- 
ment altogether.  Burke  excels  in  harmonious  periods.  Johnson's 
style  is  generally  pompons,  sometimes  lofty,  and  always  Latinised. 

Corol.  Hitherto  we  have  considered  agreeable  sound,  or  moduhition, 
in  general.  It  yet  remains  to  treat  of  a  higher  beauty  of  this  kind  ; 
the  sound  adapted  to  the  sense.  The  former  was  no  more  than  a 
simple  accompaniment,  to  please  the  ear  ;  the  latter  supposes  the  pecu- 
liar expression  given  to  the  music.  We  may  remark  two  degrees  of 
it :  first,  the  current  of  sound,  adapted  to  the  tenour  of  a  discourse  : 
next,  a  particular  resemblance  effected  between  some  object,  and  the 
sounds  that  are  employed   in  describing  it. 

224.  First,  the  current  of  sound  may  be  adapted  to  the 
icnour  of  a  discourse.  Sounds  have,  in  many  respects,  a  cor- 
respondence with  our  ideas  ;  partly  nntural,  partly  the  effect 
of  artificial  associations.  Hence  it  happens,  that  any  one 
modulation  of  sound  continued,  imprints  on  our  style  a  cer- 
tain character  and  expression. 

Illus.  Sentences  constructed  with  the  Johnsonian  fulnc?<^  and  swel?, 
produce  the  impression  of  what  is  important,  magnificent,  sedate  ;  for 
this  is  the  natural  tone  which  such  a  course  oi  sentiment  assumes. — 
But  they  suit  no  violent  passion,  no  eager  reasoning,  no  familiar  ad- 
dress. These  always  require  measures  brisker,  easier,  and  often  more 
abrupt.  And,  therefore,  to  swell,  or  to  Irt  down  the  periods,  as  the 
subject  demands,  is  a  very  important  rule  in  oratory.  No  one  tenour 
whatever,  supposing  it  to  produce  no  bad  elTect  from  satiety,  will  an- 
swer to  all  different  compositions  ;  nor  even  to  all  the  parts  of  the 
same  composition.  It  were  as  absurd  to  write  a  panegyric,  and  an 
invective,   in   a  style  of  the   same  ctadence,   as  to  set   the  words   of  a 

ndcr  love-song  to  the  air  of  a  warlike  march. 

Corol.  What  is  requisite,  therefore,  is,  that  we  previously  fix,  in 
©m*  mind,  a  just  idea  of  the  general  tone  of  sound  which  suits  our  sub- 
ject;  that  is,  which  the  sentiments  we  are  to  express,  most  naturally 
assume,  and  in  which  they  most  commonly  vent  themselves  ;  whether 
round  and  smooth,  or  stately  and  solemn,  or  brisk  and  quick,  or  in- 
terrupted and  abrupt. 

225.  But,  besides  the  general  correspondence  of  the  cur- 
rent of  sound  with  the  current  of  thou<j;ht,  there  may  be  a 
more  particular  expression  attempted,  of  certain  objects,  by 
means  of  resembling  sounds.  This  can  be  sometimes  ac- 
complished in  prose  composition;  but  there  only  in  a  more 
faint  degree  ;  nor  is  it  there  so  mucii  expected.  In  poetry, 
chiefly,  it  is  looked  for;  when  attention  to  sound  is  more 
demanded,  antl  where  the  inversions  and  liberties  of  poetic- 
al style  give  us  a  greater  command  of  euphony. 


itesemhlance  hehoeen  Sound  and  Sense,  i^9 

CHAPTER  Xe 

mKSEMBLANCE    BETWEEN    SOUND    AND    SENSE INVERSION. 

226.  THE  soumh  of  words  maybe  employed  for  repre- 
renting,  chieilj,  three  classes  of  objects;  Yiv^iy  other  sounds; 
iec'jndiy,  motion;  and,  thirdly,  the  emotions  aad  passions 

^four  mind. 

Ulus.  Thou;jh  tv/o  motions  have  no  coiniectioji,  yet  in  many  par- 
liculftrs  they  may  '>t;  said  to  hare  a  resemblance.  The  motions  of 
a  vortex  ami  -a  v/hij  Iwind  are  perfectly  similar.  All  mankind  Jiave 
fell  the  A:ialoi,'-y  between  dancing  and  music.  All  qu'ck,  or  slow,  or 
iliiii^alt  motions,  tliough  performed  in  different  circumstances,  and 
t)y  diiferent  ag^ents,  may  in  loose  phraseology  be  said  to  resemble  one 
unother.  Spoken  languag.?  is  a.  collection  of  successive  and  signin- 
•cant  sounds,  uttered  by  the  speaker  }  composition  is  a  certain  series 
of  those  sounds,  indicated  by  a  particular  sign  to  each,  {Art.  37.)  which 
^:an  be  run  over  by  the  reader;  and  it  is  obvious,  that  the  motion  of 
the  voice  of  the  speaker  or  the  reader  may  resemble  most  other  mo- 
tions, at  least  in  the  general  properties  of  quickness,  slowness,  ease, 
or  difficulty.  This  is  the  foundation  of  the  resemblance  that  takes 
place  between  the  sound  and  the  sense,  io  the  construction  of  lan- 
guage. 

227.  Words  or  sentences  consisting  chiefly  of  short  syl- 
lables, and  of  course  pronounced  with  rapidity,  bear  an  anal- 
ogy to  quick  motion,  and  may  fairly  be  said  to  form  a  re- 
semblance of  it;  as,  impetuosity,  precipitation. 

Example  Virgil  describes  a  horse  at  full  gallop,  in  the  following- 
picturesque  line. 

'■  Quadrupedante  puti-eixi  soiiitu  quatit  ungula  campum.'* 
Example  2,  The  same   author  paints  the  rapid  flight   of  a   pigeo* 
nastening  to  her  nest. 

'*  Radit  iter  liquidum  celeres  neque  eommovet  ahs  '♦ 

228.  The  English  heroic  verse  affords  not  a  proper  pic- 
ture of  quick  motion.  It  is  limited  to  ten  syllables,  while 
the  hexameter  may  extend  from  thirteen  to  seventeen.  The 
hexameter  acquires  this  advantage  by  the  admission  of  five 
i<<t^i  of  dactyles,  which  throw  into  the  line  a  large  proportion 
of  short  syllables;  and  the  preceding  lines  of  Virgil  are  per- 
tinent examples.  The  English  heroic  verse  cannot  aug- 
ment the  number  of  its  syllables,  and  preserve  its  measure. 
The  only  resource  left  to  our  poets  in  this  case  is,  to  em- 
ploy an  Alexandrine  line,  consisting  of  twelve  syllables. 

Illus.  Pope  has  frequently  adopted  this  expedient,  but  with  little 
success  ;  for  of  all  the  poetical  lines  we  have,  the  Alexan<lr»ne  is  per- 
haps the  slovyestj  as  it  consists  generally  of  monosyllables,  v/hich,  to  be 


130  Hestmblancehetwttn  Sound  and  Sm$€, 

understood,  must  be  slowly  pronounced.     This  was  Pope's  own  Gpfw 
lOQ ;  for,  he  observes,  in  his  Essay  on  Criticism,  that 

"  A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song, 
And  like  a  wounded  snake  drags  its  slow  length  along* 

Example.  But  Pope,  notwithstanding,  makes  use  of  this  verse  tu 
describe  quick  motion. 

«  Not  80  w}»en  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain, 

Flie«  o'er  th'  unbending  corn  and  skims  along  the  main." 

Jlnalysis.  It  is  probable,  that  this  groat  poet  sacrificed,  on  this  and 
aome  other  similar  occasions,  a  portion  of  his  own  taste  to  grntify  the 
public  ear.  He  nas  conscious  the  verse  was  faulty,  but  perhaps  coa- 
cluded,  that  many  of  his  readers  would  take  for  a  beauty,  what  was 
really  a  blrmisli ;  that  those  who  could  discern  the  error,  would  dis- 
cern also  the  proper  apology  for  it  ;  or  would  allow  him,  when  he 
could  not  imitate  a  quick  motion,  to  approach  it  as  n«ar  is  possible, 
by  substituting  in  its  place  the  continuance  of  a  slow  one. 

229.  A  word  conslstin*r  of  long  syllables,  or  a  sentence 
of  monosjllaWes,  mav  resemble  solemn,  harsh,  or  difficult 
motion,  as, /oreu'arn,  mankind, 

Exatnple  1.  Thus  Pope,  in  his  Essay  on  Criticism, 

TVit  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore, 
i  lie  toarse  rough  verse  should  Uke  the  tonent  roar*" 

{-..lamjac  2.   Again, 

"  With  man^  a  weary  step,  and  many  a  groan. 
Up  the  high  Lill  lit- heaves  a  huge  round  iioue/^ 

Jinalynis.  The  last  line  possesses  uncommoki  beauty  ;  for,  besides 
that  the  words  are  all  monosyllables,  which  renders  a  pause  necessary 
after  each  of  them  in  the  pronunciation,  the  artful  repetition  of  the  as- 
piration paints  very  forcibly  the  loss  of  breath  under  which  Sisyphus 
miglit  be  supposed  to  labour  from  the  violent  exertion  of  his  force. 
This  circinnstance  is  not  in  the  original,  which  also  possesses  extraor- 
dinai y  merit.  Homer  fixes  his  attention  on  the  muscular  exertions, 
;uid  the  motions  of  Sisyphus.  He  has,  however,  the  advantage  of  his 
translator,  by  the  superiority  his  language  gives  him,  in  contrasting 
the  slow  and  difBcuU  motion  upwards,  with  the  rapid  and  furious  mo- 
tion downwards.* 

230.  Pope  employs  again  the  Alexandrine  to  describe  the 
motion  downward. 

Ejfainple.  »♦  The  huge  round  stone  resulting  with  a  bound, 

Thunders  impetuous  down,  and  smokes  along  the  ground." 

231.  Easy  or  smooth  motion  may  be  painted  by  a  succes 
$ion  of  soft  and  harmonious  sounds. 

*  The  lines  in  the  origir*al  run  thus : 

*'  Kai  iirjv  "Licv^ov  tts'CiSov  Kparip^  d\eyi  e^avra 
Aaav  0aad^ovTa  TrcAwptov  ctfiipoTfprjTiv 
Hroi  6  ficv  ^aXa  aKirnrdpcvog  "Xtpaiv  rt  rrdaiv  ri 
Aauv  avu)  aiditrvf  noTi  yd^ov-  aA'  drc  fifXXot 
AKpov  l7reo6uX\itiv,  tot^  a-rro^pii^aeKe  Kparagi^ 
"Avrij  tnura  niiovdi  KvXhhTo  Aaaj  aiaU'ii  " 


Resemblance  between  Sound  and  Sense,  131 

:ExanU)k:  '  Soft  is  tlie  strain  when  Zephyr  gently  blows. 

And  the  sTuooth  stream  iu  smoother  numbers  flows/' 

Papers  Essay  on  Criticism^ 

232.  Vlml,  describing  the  gav  and  easv  motion  of  the 
nymph  iXigle,  says. 

Example.  "  Addit  se  sociam,  timidisque  siipervelilt  iKgle."         Echga  VI,  Siknuj. 

£33.  Pope  has  been  very  successful  in  contrasting  the 
two  kinds  of  motion  last  mentioned.  In  the  first  four  lines 
of  the  following  quotation,  he  ridicules  the  affected  pomp 
and  harsliness  of  the  versification  of  Sir  Richard  Blackmore. 
In  the  last  four  lines,  he  opposes  to  his  solemnity  ami  harsh- 
iiess  the  inanimate  but  smooth  composition  of  the  writers  of 
panegyrics. 

«'  What,  like  Sir  Richard,  rumbling:,  rough  and  fierce, 
Witli  arms,  and  Georg^e,  aud  Brunswick,  crowd  my  verse  i 
Rend  with  tremenduous  sounds  j^our  ears  asunder. 
M'^ith  gun,  drum,  trumpet,  blundt  rbuss,  and  thunder  ? 
1'hen  all  your  muses  softer  arts  display : 
Let  Carolina  smooth  tlie  tuneful  lay ; 
Lull  with  Amelia's  liquid  name  the  nine. 
And  sweetly  flow  o'tr  all  the  royal  lint." 

234.  Violent  or  slow  motions  may  be  imitated  by  abrupt 
and  heavy,  or  harsh  words  and  lines,  as  horrid,  harrow^ 
hoarse. 

Example.     Again,  Pope: 

"  Loud  sounds  the  air,  redoubling  strokes  on  strokes, 

On  all  sides  I'ound  the  forest  hurls  her  oaks 

Headlong.     Deep  echoing  groan  the  thickets  brown, 

Tlien  rustling,  crackling,  crashing,  thunder  down." 
*' First  march  the  heavy  mules  securely  slow, 

O'er  hills,  o'er  dales,  o'er  crags,  o'er  rocks  they  go  "     Iliad  XXIII.  13St 

*'  When  AJax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 
The  line  too  labors,  and  the  words  move  slow."     Essay  on  Criticism,  370. 

'^35.  Virgil,  describing  the  efforts  of  the  Cyclops  in  form- 
ing the  thunder,  thus  sings: 

"  Illi  inter  sese  magna  vi  bmchia  tollunt."        (Gecr.  4.) 

S3 6.  Words  may  be  so  modulated,  that  their  sound  shall 
be  expressive  of  the  dispositions  and  emotions  of  the  mind. 
Accordingly,  a  verse,  or  line,  composed  mostly  of  mono- 
syllables, or  of  long  syllables,  and  of  course  slowly  pronoun- 
ced, prompts  the  notion  of  dignity  and  solemnity.  Pope 
thus  describes  Nestor: 

"  Slow  from  his  scat  arose  the  Pylian  sage."' 

"  Next  Comus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing  slow."        Milton. 

*'  Oli  sedato  respondit  corde  Latinus."        jEneid. 

*'  Incedit  tardo  moloraime  subsidendo."        Ibid 

£37.  Harsh  and  disagreeable  sounds  suggest  the  same 
emotions,  which  arise  fron)  beholding  any  exertion  perform- 
ed imperfectly,  or  with  difficulty  : 


1 32  Inversioiu 

— — *  "When  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs  ,  . 

Harsh  grate  on  their  scratmcl  pipes  oi'  wretched  straw."    Nittoti^s  LycidaY/ 

238.  Virgil,  with  much  modesty,  thu3  characterises  hi? 
own  poetry  in  his  Eclogues. 

"  Nam  neque  adhuc  Varo  videor,  nee  dicere  Cinna 
Digiia,  scd  ar^utos  inter  strcp<?re  anser  olores." 

239.  The  frequent  repetition  of  the  letter  r  in  the  last 
verse  is  very  descriptive  of  the  rudeness  and  harshness  of 
bad  vers€S.     Thus,  Pope  : 

"  Just  writes  to  make  his  barrenness  appear, 

And  strains  from  liard-lwund  brains  eigut  lines  a  year."     Letter  to  Arbutfmot. 

240.  Smooth  and  easy  verses  generate  an  emotion  allied 
(o  joy  and  vivacity.  It  is  difficult  to  decide  whether  the 
sentiment,  or  the  versification  of  the  following  example  is 
more  sprightly. 

"  Bright  as  the  sun  her  eyes  the  ga/^rs  strike  ; 

And  liki*  the  sun  they  shine  on  all  alike. 

Tet  gracfful  i  ast",  and  swtftm-ss  void  of  pride 

Might  hidchvi  iaulis.  if'belks  had  faults  to  hicU  . 

If  to  hir  share  some  female  errors  fall, 

Look  on  her  face,  and  you'U  forget  them  all."        Rnpe  oJtf*e  Lock. 

241.  The  slow  and  solemn  sound  of  the  subsequent  verses 
prompts  an  emotion  similar  (o  melancholy. 

•'In  these  deep  solitudes  and  awful  cells, 

Where  heavenly  pensive  conteroplatimi  dwells. 

And  evei>rausiug  melancholy  reigns.*'    EloUa  to  Abelard. 

242.  Inversion  is  a  branch  of  ornament,  and  of  that 
species  of  it  which  belongs  both  to  the  sound  and  the  sense. 
It  belongs  to  the  sound,  because  by  transposing  the  natural 
and  grammatical  order  of  the  words,  arrangements  may  be 
formed  more  agreeable  to  the  ear  than  could  otherwise  be  ob- 
tained. It  is  connected  with  the  sense,  because  by  suspen- 
ding the  appearance  of  some  capital  word  or  circumstance, 
curiosity  may  be  excited,  and  artfully  prolonged,  till  the 
conclusion  of  the  period  discloses  the  mystery,  and  impress- 
es the  sense  deeper  on  the  mind. 

Ului.  1.  The  object  of  inversion,  then,  Is  to  attain  some  beauty  or 
impulse  (hat  cannot  be  obtained  by  preserving  the  natural  order. 
This  attamment  is  the  same  with  that  of  grammatical  perspicuity: 
and  hence  arises  an  invariable  principle,  to  limit  the  extent  of  inver- 
sion ;  namely,  it  wnvA  seek  no  embellishment  which  would  be  bought 
too  dear  ;  it  must  admit  no  modulation  which  may  produce  obscurity, 

2.  DiiTerent  kinds  of  composition,  and  dilTerent  languages,  admit 
<iiflereHt  deg^rees  of  inversion.  All  discourse  addressed  to  the  under- 
Manding,  set(l»>m  permits  much  inversion.  More  of  it  is  allowed  in 
works  addressed  to  the  imagination,  and  most  of  all  in  those  produc- 
tions which  are  intended  to  rouse  and  interest  the  passions  and  emo- 
tions of  the  heart.  The  cool  and  philosophical  construction  of  mod- 
ern languages,  also,  renders  them  much  less  susceptible  of  inyersien 
tb«n  the  ancient.    (Art,  24—30.  and  171.) 


Inversion.  133 

243.  There  are  several  words,  however,  in  all  language?, 
Avliich  cannot  easily  be  separated  from  one  another,  and 
which  cannot  therefore  admit  much  inversion. 

Illus.  1.  One  substantive  depending^  on  another  is  seldom,  in  prose 
at  least,  in  any  languag^e,  disjoined  from  it.  "  The  beauty  of  virtue,' 
*•  via  virtutis,"  <'  bSoi  aper;;?."  But  in  the  poetry  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
iuch  words  are  frequently  separate<l. 

'^  Arma  virumque  cano  Trojse  qui  primus  ab  oris.'' 

"  Mfjiiiv  aei6e  Oia  rrriXrj'id^tu)  A%(X»/os."*      [lias.  I.  1. 

2.  A  preposition  is  seldom  disjoined  from  its  Substantive.  Frot)i 
east  to  west;  ava  s-parov  ;  ex  sententia,     (j9rt.  71.) 

3.  An  adjective  is  almost  always  associated  with  its  substantive  in 
fhe  modern  languages,  and  very  frequently  in  the  ancient.  (Jirt.  59. 
md  Illus.  143.) 

4.  An  adverb  is  generally  adjoined  to  its  verb  or  adjective  both  in 
ancient  and  modern  languages,  because,  having  no  inflection,  juxtapo- 
sition only  can  denote  its  relaiion.     (Ai't.  145.) 

Corol.  These  observations  circumscribe  the  subject  of  inquiry  within 
certain  limits,  and  discriminate  the  parts  of  speech,  in  the  disposition 
of  which  we  have  most  reason  to  expect  inversion.  It  appears,  then, 
tbiit  they  are  the  principal  parts  of  sentences,  the  agent  and  the  action, 
or  the  nominative  and  the  verb.     (Art.  144.  and  134.) 

5.  In  the  languages  of  Greece  and  Rmne,  it  seems  perfectly  arbitra- 
ry in  what  part  of  the  sentence  the  nominative  is  placed.  We  find  it 
in  the  beginning  of  the  sentence,  or  separated  by  half,  sometimes  by 
the  vhole  sentence,  from  the  verb  it  governs,  (.^rt.  143.  Illus.  2, 
.5r/.23.) 

6.  The  verb  undergoes  the  same  variety  of  positions.  It  stands  iu 
the  beginning,  sometimes  in  the  middle,  but  most  frequently  in  the  end 
of  the  sentence. 

Obs.  Of  all  these  positions  examples  are  so  numerous,  that  we  shall 
r.ot  produce  any.  The  variety  of  terminations  Avhich  inilection  fur- 
nishes to  the  ancient  languages  is  sufficient,  in  all  these  circumstances, 
to  distinguish  the  relations  of  the  agent  and  the  action,  and  to  preserve 
perspicuity. 

244.  The  inversions  of  modern  languages  are  much  less 
frequent  and  violent,  and  the  following  are  the  most  common 
of  which  our  language  is  susceptible. 

245.  A  circumstance  is  sometimes  situated  before  the 
nominative. 

Example.  "  In  order,"  says  Addison,  <'  to  set  this  matter  in  a  clear 
iight  to  every  reader,  I  shall,  in  the  first  place,  observe,  that  a  meta- 
phor is  a  simile  in  one  word."  This  arrangement  is  more  agreeable, 
and  perhaps  more  perspicuous,  than  the  natural  one.  "  I  sh'^U,  in  the 
first  place,  observe,  in  order  to  set  this  matter  in  a  clear  light  to  every 
reader,  that  a  metaphor  is  a  simile  in  one  word." 

^46.    {Sometimes  a  circumstance  is  inserted  after  thr 

*  See  Example  l.  Art.  249. 


\M  Inversion. 

nominative,  and  before  or  between   the  auxiliary  and  the 
verb,     (lllus.  7.  and  8.  p.  89.) 

Example.  *•'  I  have  formerly,  with  a  g-oDd  deal  of  attention,  consid- 
ered the  subject  upon  which  you  command  uie  io  communicate  my 
thoughts."  This  is,  perhaps,  not  inferior  to  the  natural  order.  "  1 
liave  formerly  considered,  with  a  good  deal  of  attention,  the  subject 
on  which  you  coannand  me  to  communicate  my  thoughts." 

247.  The  nominative  is  placed  after  the  verb.  But  this 
inversion  is  restricted  almost  entirely  to  poetry,  where  it 
has  often  a  pleasing  eftect  ;  witness  the  following  examples 
from  the  fourth  Book  of  Paradise  Lost. 

*'  Sweet  is  tlie  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet, 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  ;  pleasant  the  sun, 
When  first  oa  this  dehghiful  land  he  spreads 
his  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flower 
Ciiist*rinfi^  with  d»w  ;  fragrant  thetertily  eartit 
After  soft  showers,  and  sweet  th«  coming  ou 
Of  grateful  evening  niild." 

248.  The  placing  of  the  nominative  after  the  verb  isoneaf 
the  must  easy  inversions  of  which  our  language  is  suscepti- 
ble ;  and,  as  it  affords  an  agreeable  variety,  and  is  perfectly 
consistent  with  perspicuity,  it  should  not  be  permitted  to 
fall  into  disuse.  It  was  formerly  frequent  in  prose,  and  slUl 
appears  in  that  species  of  composition  with  dignity  and 
grace. 

Example  1.  ''There  exists  not  in  nature  a  more  miserable  animal; 
tlian  a  bad  man  at  war  with  himself." 

2.  ''  In  splendid  robes  appeared  the  queen." 

3.  The  following  quotations  are  found  in  Hume's  History  of  Eng- 
land. Speaking^  of  Charles  I.  "  He  had  formed  one  ol  the  most  illus- 
trious characters  of  his  age,  had  not  the  extreme  narrowness  of  his 
;; -nius  in  every  thing  but  war  sullied  the  lustre  of  his  other  talents.'* 
"  Had  the  limitations  on  the  prerogative  been  in  his  time  quite  fixed, 
his  integrity  h.id  made  him  regard  as  sacred  the  boundaries  of  the 
constitution." 

249.  Another  very  frequent  inversion,  in  poetry,  stations 
the  subject  in  the  beginning  of  a  sentence,  and  sometimes 
throws  in  a  circumstance  between  the  subject  and  its  verb. 

Example  1.  Tlie  first  verses  in  the  Iliad  are  thus  translated  by  Pope  ■ 

"  Achilles'  wrath,  to  Gi-eece  the  direful  spring 
Of  woes  unnumber'd,  heavenly  Goddess,  sing.'' 

Example  2.  Parnrlise  Lost  opens  in  a  similar  manner: 

"  Of  man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit 
Of  that  forbidden  ti-ee,  whose  mortal  taste 
Brought  death  into  the  world,  and  uU  yurwoe. 
With  loss  of  Eden,  till  one  greater  man 
Restore  us,  and  regain  Uit  bUssfuJ  seat, 
Sing,  heavenly  muse  I" 


Inversion.  135 

Example  3.  Thomson's  Autumn  commences  in  the  following  strain  ; 

"  Croww'd  viith  the  sickle  and  the  vvhcaten  sheaf, 
While  Autumn,  nodding  o'er  the  yellow  plain, 
Comes  jovial  on,  the  Doric  reed  once  more 
Well-pleas'd  I  tune." 

Illus.  This  inversion,  though  proper  and  beautiful  in  poetry,  appears 
scarcely  tolerable  in  prose.  (See  Art.  171.  in  the  example,  fron*  Gor- 
don's Translation  of  Tacitus.) 

250.  A  noun  preceded  by  a  preposition  very  frequently 
appears  before  a  verb. 

Example.  "  By  these  we  acquired  our  liberties,"  said  the  Scotch  no- 
bles, laying  their  hands  on  their  swords,  "  and  with  these  will  we  de- 
fend them."* 

,  Analysis.  This  order  is  much  preferable  in  point  of  emphasis  to  the 
natural  one.  How  tame  is  the  natural  order  !  ''  We  acquired  our 
liberties  by  these,  and  we  v.ill  defend  them  w ith  these."  (Set  jSri.  124. 
Jllus.  20.  p.  SO.) 

Schol.  1.  These  inversions  deviate  little  from  the  order  of  ideas,  or 
the  grammatical  order  of  the  words  ;  and,  though  they  suspend  the 
raeanin^-,  they  hurt  not  the  perspicuity.  This  analogy  between  the 
succession  of  ideas,  and  the  arrangement  of  w  ords,  is  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal beauties  of  modern  languages,  which  the  ancients  relinquish  in 
order  to  attain  other  beauties  in  point  of  melody  ;  and  it  is  perhaps 
impossible  to  propose  any  general  principle  by  which  the  preference  of 
these  beauties  may  be  decided.     (Obs.Art.  27.) 

2.  The  ancients  would  complain,  perhaps,  of  the  lameness  and  sim- 
plicity of  our  arrangement,  while  we  might  reprehend  the  artifice  and 
obscurity  of  their  inversion.  They  would  reprobate  our  neglect  cf 
harmony,  while  we  might  expose  their  apparent  attachment  to  sound 
more  than  to  sense.  Such,  at  least,  is  the  power  of  habit,  that  a  period 
of  Latin  or  Greek,  arranged  in  grammatical  order,  would  excite  dis- 
gust, and  a  period  of  English  in  the  order  of  Greek  or  Latin  wouM 
appear  ridiculous  or  unintelligible  f 

*  Robertson's  Histoi"}'  of  Scotland. 

t  In  conjuiiction  with  these  articles  on  Inv(;rsion,  the  student  sliould  peruse  Chap* 
tcY  IV.  hook  I. 


OF  FIGURES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

K    CllARACTEU    AND    ADVANTAGES    OF    FIGUIlEfc, 

:i^)  i .  FIGURES,  in  general,  may  be  described  to  be  that 
'anguage,  wliich  is  prompted  either  by  the  imagination,  or 
fey  the  passions.  (Chap,  11 L  B,  L) 

252.  Rhetoricians  commonly  divide  them  into  two  great 
classes  ;  Figures  of  words,  andjigures  of  thou g hi. 

^53.  Figures  ofuwrds,  are  commonly  called  tuopes.  A 
frope  consists  in  a  word's  being  employed  to  si<jnify  some- 
tliing  that  is  different  from  its  original  and  primitive  mean- 
ing ;  so  that  if  you  alter  the  word,  you  destroy  the  figure. 

lilus.  Thus,  in  the  sentences  ;  *'  Light  ariseth  to  the  upriglit  in 
Jarknegs  ;"  the  trope  consists  in  "  light  and  darkness,"  being  not 
■leant  litorally,  but  substituted  for  comfort  and  adverxity,  on  account  of 
-ome  resemblance  or  analopv  which  lij^ht  and  darkness  are  supposed 

0  bear  to  these  conditions  of  life.     (Set  lUus.  2.  >^rl.  19.) 

254.  Figures  of  thought,  suppose  the  words  to  be  used  in 
their  proper  and  literal  meaning,  and  the  figure  to  consist  in 

1  he  turn  of  the  thought.  They  appear  in  exclamations,  in- 
ferrogalions,  apostrophes,  and  comparisons  ;  where,  though 
you  vary  tlie  words  that  are  used,  or  translate  them  from 
one  language  into  another,  you  may,  nevertheless,  still  pre- 
serve the  same  figure  in  the  thought,     (lllus.  3.  Art,  19.) 

Obs.  This  distinction,  however,  is  of  no  js^reat  use  ;  as  nothing  can 
be  built  upon  if  in  jiractice  :  neither  is  it  always  very  clear.  It  is  of 
little  importance,  whether  we  give  to  some  particular  mode  of  expres- 
sion the  name  of  a  trope, or  of  a  figure  ;  provided  we  remember,  that 
rtgurative  language  always  imports  some  colouring  of  the  imagination, 
or  some  emotion  of  passion,  expressed  in  our  style  :  and,  perhaps, 
''.2;ure$  of  imaL!;Lnatiov,  nud  figures  of  passion,  might  be  a  more  useful 
ilistribution  of  the  subject.  But,  without  insisting  on  any  artificial 
divisions,  it  will  be  more  useful,  that  we  inquire  into  the  advantages 
which  language  derives  from  figures  of  speech. 


Mgures,  15^ 

255.  First,  tropes,  or  figures,  enrich  langvage^  and 
render  it  more  copious.  By  their  means,  words  and  phrases 
are  multiplied  for  expressing  all  sorts  of  ideas  ;  for  descri- 
bing even  the  minutest  diff'erences  ;  the  nicest  shades  and 
colours  of  thought ;  which  no  language  could  possibly  do  by 
proper  words  alone,  without  assistance  from  tropes.  (Art.  21.) 

256.  Secondly,  they  bestow  dignity  upon  style.  The  fa- 
miliarity of  common  words,  to  which  our  ears  are  much  ac- 
customed, tends  to  degrade  style.  When  we  want  to  adapt 
our  language  to  the  tone  of  an  elevated  subject,  we  should 
be  greatly  at  a  loss,  if  we  could  not  borrow  assistance  from 
figures  ;  which,  properly  employed,  haA^e  a  similar  eifect  on 
language,  with  what  is  produced  by  the  rich  and  splendid 
dress  of  a  person  of  rank  ;  to  create  respect,  and  to  give  an 
air  of  magnificence  to  him  who  wears  it.  Assistance  of  this 
kind  is  often  needed  in  prose  compositions  ;  but  poetry 
could  not  subsist  without  it.  Hence,  figures  form  the  con- 
stant language  of  poetry.    (Art,2\.) 

Illus.  1.  To  say,  that  '*  the  sun  rises,"  is  trite  and  common  ;  but  it 
becomes  a  mag:ni(icent  ima2:e  when  expressed  as  Thompson  has  done  : 

But  yonder  comes  tbe  powerful  king  of  day, 
Rejoicing  in  the  east.— — 

2.  To  say,  that  "  All  men  are  subject  alike  to  death,"  presents  only  a 
vulgar  idea ;  but  it  rises  and  fills  the  imagination  when  painted  thus  fey- 
Horace  : 

Pallida  mors  aequo  pulsat  pede,  pauperum  tabenias 
Kegumque  tiin-es.* 

Or, 

Omncs  codem  cogimur ;  omnium , 

Versatur  urna,  serins,  ocyus, 
Sors  exitura,  et  nos  in  eternum 

it  xihura  impositura  cymbee.t 

257,  In  the  third  place,  figures  give  us  the  pleasure  of 
enjoying  tivo  objects  presented  together  without  confusion^ 
to  our  view  ;  the  principal  idea,  that  is  the  subject  of  the 
discourse,  along  with  its  accessory,  which  gives  it  the  figu- 
rative dress.  We  see  one  thing  in  another,  as  Aristotle  ex- 
presses it  ;  which  is  always  agreeable  to  the  mind.  For 
ther  is  nothing  with  which  the  fiincy  is  more  delighted, 
than  With  comparisons  and  resemblances  of  objects  ;  and  all 

*  With  equal  pace  impartial  fate 
Knocks  at  the  palace,  as  the  cottage  gate. 

t  We  all  must  tread  tlie  patlis  of  fate; 
ij  And  ever  shakes  ilie  mortal  urn, 

Whose  iot  embarks  us,  soon  or  late, 
On  Cbaron's  bosit ;  aU  !  never  to  retuMi.    Trdncis* 


t5S  Figures. 

tropes  are  fouiidctl  iipoH  sonic  relation  or  analogy  between 
one  thing  and  another. 

Illus.  When,  for  instance,  in  place  of  "  youth,"  we  say,  the 
'"  morning  of  life  ;"  the  fancy  is  immediately  entertained  with  all  the 
resembling  circumstances  which  presently  occur  between  these  two 
objects.  At  one  moment,  we  have  before  us  a  certain  period  of  hu- 
man life,  and  a  certain  time  of  the  day,  so  related  to  each  other,  that 
the  fma^inatiou  plays  between  them  with  pleasure,  and  contemplates 
two  similar  objects,  in  one  view,  without  embarrassment  or  confusion. 
Not  only  so,  but, 

258.  In  the  fourth  place,  figures  are  attended  with  this 
farther  advantage,  of  giving  us  frequently  a  much  clearer 
and  more  striking  view  of  the  principal  object y  than  we  could 
have  if  it  were  expressed  in  simple  terms,  and  divested  of  its 
accessory  idea. 

Illiut.  1.  This  is,  indeed,  their  principal  advantage,  in  virtue  of  which 
they  are  very  properly  said  to  illustrate  a  stibjecty  or  to  throw  light 
upon  it.  For  they  exhibit  the  object,  on  which  they  are  employed,  in 
a  picturesque  form  ;  they  can  render  an  abstract  conception,  in  some 
degree,  an  object  of  sense  ;  they  surround  it  with  such  circumstances 
as  enable  the  mind  to  lay  hold  of  it  steadily,  and  to  contemplate  it  fully. 

Example  **  Those  persons,"  says  one,  "  who  gain  the  hearts  of  most 
people,  who  are  chosen  as  the  companions  of  their  softer  hours,  and 
their  reliefs  from  anxiety  and  care,  are  seldom  persons  of  shining  qual- 
itie.-*,  or  strong  virtues  :  it  is  rather  the  soft  green  of  the  soul  on  whicii 
wc  rest  our  ey«s,  that  are  fatigued  with  beholding  more  glaring  ob- 
jects.*'  Here,  by  a  happy  allnsion  to  a  colour,  the  whole  conception  is 
n  one  word  conveyed  clear  and  strong  to  the  mind. 

Illus.  2.  By  a  well  chosen  figure,  even  conviction  is  assisted,  and  the 
'mpression  of  a  truth  upon  the  mind  made  more  lively  and  forcible 
than  it  would  otherwise  be. 

Examples.  *'  When  we  dip  too  deep  in  pleasure,  we  always  stir  a 
-•dirtiont  that  renders  it  impure  and  noxious  :"*  "  A  heart  boiling  with 
violent  passions,  will  always  send  up  infatuating  furies  to  the  head." 
An  inia'^e  that  presents  so  much  congruity  between  a  moral  and  a,  sen- 
sible idea,  serves,  like  an  argtmient  from  analogy,  to  enforce  what  the 
author  asserts,  and  to  induce  belief. 

lllns.  3.  Besides,  whether  we  are  endeavouring  to  raise  sentiments  of 
pleasure  or  arersion,  wc  can  always  heighten  the  emotion  by  the  figures 
which  we  introduce  ;  leading  the  imagination  to  a  train,  either  of 
agreeable  or  disa^^reeabUy  of  exalting  or  debasing  ideas,  correspondent 
to  the  imprecision  which  we  seek  to  make.  When  we  want  to  render 
an  object  lyeauufal  or  jnagnijicent,  we  borrow  images  from  all -the  most 
beautiful  or  splendid  scenes  of  nature  ;  we  thereby,  naturally  throw  a 
lustre  over  our  object  ;  we  enliven  the  reader's  mind,  and  dispose  him 
to  go  along  with  us,  in  the  gay  and  pleasing  i'upre^sions  which  we 
give  him  of  the  subject.  This  effect  of  figures  is  happily  touched  in 
the  following  lines  of  Dr.  Akenside,   and  iUustratcd  by  a  very  sublime 


iigure 


pp.  Yaiawj;. 


Table  of  Pigures,  1 3§ 

.^  m^  ■ .—  Then  the  inexpressive  strain 
diffuses  its  enchantment.    Fancy  dreams 
Of  sacred  fountains  aud  ;^lysian  groves, 
And  vales  of  bliss,  the  intellectual  Power 
Rends  from  his  awful  throne  a  wond'ring  ear, 
And  smiles.  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  I.  124. 

Scliolmm.  What  we  have  now  explained,  concerning;  the  ciiaracter 
md  advantages  of  figures,  naturally  leads  us  to  reflect  on  the  wonder- 
ful power  of  language  ;  nor  can  we  reflect  on  it  without  the  highest 
admiration.  What  a  fine  vehicle  is  it  now  become  for  all  the  concep- 
tions of  the  human  mind  ;  even  for  the  most  subtle  and  delicate  work- 
ings of  the  imagination  !  What  a  pliant  and  flexible  instrument  in  the 
hand  of  one  who  can  employ  it  skilfully  ;  prepared  to  take  every  form 
which  he  chuses  to  give  it !  INot  content  with  a  simple  communi- 
cation of  idea's  and  thoughts,  it  paints  those  ideas  to  the  eye ;  it  gives 
colouring  and  relievo,  even  to  the  most  abstract  conceptions.  In  the 
figures  which  it  uses,  it  sets  mirrors  before  us,  where  we  may,  a  second 
time,  behold  objects  in  their  likeness.  It  entertains  us,  as  with  a  suc- 
cession of  the  most  splendid  pictures  ;  disposes,  in  the  most  artificial 
manner,  of  the  light  and  shade,  for  viewing  every  thing  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage ;  in  fine,  from  being  a  rude  and  imperfect  interpreter  of  men's 
wants  and  necessities,  it  has  now  passed  into  an  iastrument  of  the  most 
delicate  and  refined  luxury. 

259.  All  TROPES  are  founded  on  the  relation  lohich  one 
object  bears  to  another  ;  in  virtue  of  which,  the  name  of  the 
one  can  be  substituted  instead  of  the  name  of  the  other  ; 
and  by  such  a  substitution,  the  vivacity  of  the  idea  is  com- 
monly meant  to  be  increased.  These  relations,  some  more, 
fsome  less  intimate,  may  all  give  rise  to  tropes. 

260.  To  illustrate  these  relations,  we  have  constructed 
the  following 

Table  of  FigureSy  which,  among  related  objects,  extend 

the  properties  of  one  to  another, 

I.  An  attribute  of  the  cause,  expressed  as  an  attribute  of  tlje  eiTeet 

To  my  advenVroiis  song-, 

That  with  no  middle  flight  intends  to  soar.    Paradire  Lost* 

U.  An  attribute  of  the  effect,  expressed  as  an  attribute  of  the  cause. 
No  wonder,  fallen  such  Si pernicious  height.    Par.  Lost. 

1.11.  An  effect  expressed  as  in  attribute  of  the  cause. 

Jovial  wine  Musing  midnight 

Giddy  drink  Punting  height 

J^rowsy  niglit  Astonished  thought. 

And  the  merry  hells  ring  round, 

And  ikt  jocund  rebecks  sound.    Allegro. 

IV.  An  attribute  for  a  subject  bestowed  upon  one  of  its  parts  bv 
aembers  ',  as,  longing  arms. 


It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark, 
That  pierced  xhejearful  hollow  of  thine  car.* 

•  Romeo  anti  Juliet,  Act  III.  Scene  5, 
13 


140  Table  of  Figures. 

V.  A  quality  of  the  ageat  given  to  the  instrument  witli  which  It  i>^' 
crates. 

Why  peep  your  coward  swords  half  out  oi  ilieir  sUtUs  ? 

VI.  The  means  or  instrument  conceived  to  be  the  agent 

A  broken  rock  the/o;c<r  of  Pirus  threw. 

VII.  The  chief  circumstance  conceived  to  bo  t'.r  ;     ; 

Whose  hunger  has  not  tasted  food  these  three  dayit. 

VIII.  An  attribute  of  the  agent  given  to  the  suhjcci,    - 
operates. 

IUgh<Uinbvis  hill.    Milton. 

W.  A  quality  of  one  subject  given  to  another. 

When  shapth  sf  ac:t',  and  weak  fcfble  liiutn. 

Should  bring  thy  faifu-r  1»  hi*  drooping  chair.    Shakespeare* 

By  art,  the  pMi)t  through  the  boilinjr  ikf  p, 

And  howling  ii  rupest,  stcer»  \.WJlarU:ss  ship.     Iliad^  .\siii.  335. 

X.  A  circumstance  connected  with  a  subject,  expressed  as  a  qualify 
of  the  subject. 

■^Tis  ours  the  chance  offghtin^  fieWs  to  try.    Iliad,  i.  30 1. 

201.  The  several  relations  upon  which  figures  of  speech 
iire  commonly  founded,  are  epitomized  in  the  following  two 
tables  :  one  of  suhjects  expressed  figuratively,  and  one  of 
attributes. 


i.  A  v>otd  proper  to  one  subject,  employed  figurativ^ij  ,  i.-  ^  .^..v,,- 
a  resembling  subject. 

lUus.  1.  There  is  no  figure   of  spcrrh  so  finincnt,   n.<i  lliat  wJjIlIi  i- 
\lorived  from   the  rolation  i  ' 
youth.     (Illus.  Jlrt.  257.) 

Jliudysis.  The  life  of  man  r<--i'Miii>ie,-  a  uaiura!  uay,  m  sov<'r:il  pni  • 
licukus  :  the  mornhig  is  the  beginning  of  day  ;  youth,  the  beginning 
of  life  ;  the  morning  is  cheerful  ;  so  is  youth,  k.c. 

2.  By  another  resemblance,   a  multitude  of  tronbUs 
trouble  ;  and  a  bold  warrior  is,  the  thunderbolt  of  war. 

Corol.  This  figure,  above  all  others,  affords  pleasure  to  the  uiind,  by 
variety  of  beauties.  It  possesses,  among  others,  the  bi-auty  of  a  meta- 
phor, or  of  a  simile.  A  figure  of  speech,  built  upon  resemblance,  al- 
ways suggests  a  comparison  between  the  principal  subject,  and  the 
accessory.  Hence,  by  tliis  figure,  every  good  effect  of  a  metaphor,  or 
simile,  may  be  produced  iu  a  short  and  iively  manner. 

IL  A  word  proper  to  the  effect,  employed  figuratively,  to  express 
the  cause  ;  as,  shadow^  for  cloud;  glittering  toti. .  Imet  ;  vJii 

bragt  or  shadow,  for  tree. 

^Tbe^?  tke  dan  u  mirage  hangs.     S;      ;  '  ^  -* '  , 

•^  Jane  Short. 


Tabk  of  Figures.  14ft. 

%.  ■xcGund  is  made  to  sigiiify  an  arrow. 

Vulnere  non  pedibus  te  consequar.    Ovul, 

Analysis.  There  is  a  peculiar  force  and  beaut fj  in  this  ;  the  word, 
^j'hich  signifies  figuratively  the  principal   subject,   denotes  it  to  be  a 
ause,  by  suggesting  the  effect, 
ill.  A  word  proper  to  the  cause,  employed  figuratively  to  express  the 
effect ;  as,  grief  sorroiv.,  for  fears. 

Again,  Ul3sses  veil'd  his  pensive  head  : 
Again,  uninanu'd,  a  show' r  of  sor-roxp  shed* 
Streaming  grief  his  faded  check  bedcwtd. 

Blindness  J  for  darkness. 

Ccecis  erramus  in  nadls.    JCncld.  n\.  200. 

Analysis.  Ther«  is  a  peculiar  beauty  in  this  figure,  similar  to  that  \i\ 
♦he  former  :  the  figurative  name  denotes  tlie  subject  to  be  an  effect  by 
sng^gesiing  its  cause, 

IV.  Two  things  being  intimately  connected,  the  proper  name  of  the 
04ie  employed  figuratively  to  signify  the  other. 

Illus.  Day,  for  light.  ^Xlght,  for  darkness  ;  and  hencC;  a  mdde-y 
ti'ght.     Winter  J  for  a  storm  at  sea  : 

Interea  magno  misccri  inuirawre  pontum, 
Emissamque  Hyemein  sensit  Neptunus.    Mr.cid^  u  128. 

V.  A  word  proper  io  an  attribute,  employed  figuratively  to  denote 
the  subject. 

Tov.th  and  beauty  shall  be  laid  in  dust. 

J\Iajesiy,  for  king;  as  in  Hamlet,  £ct  i.  Scene  L 

What  art  thou,  that  usurp'st  this  time  of  night 
Together  with  that  fair  and  warlike  form, 
In  which  the  majesty  of  buried  Denmark 
Did  sometimes  march  ? 

Analysis.  The  peculiar  beauty  of  this  figure  arises  from  suggesting 
a  attribute  that  dnbellishes  the  subject,  or  puts  it  in  a  stronger  light, 

VI.  A  complex  terra,  emi-loyed  figuratively  to  denote  one  of  the 
component  parts  ;  as,  f anus,  for  a  dead  body  ;  burial,  for  a  grave. 

VII.  The  name  of  one  of  the  component  parts,  instead  of  the  coFn- 
|)lex  term  ;  as,  the  east,  for  a  country  situated  east  from  us.  Jovis 
vestigia  servat,  for  imitating  Jupiter  in  general. 

Vlil.  A  word  signifying  time  or  place,  employed  figuratively  to  de- 
note what  is  connected  with  it. 

Jllus.  Clirntj  for  season,  or  for  a  constitution  of  government :  hence 
the  expression,  merciful  clime,  feccy  icinler,  for  snow,  .seculum  ftlix. 

IX.  A  part,  for  the  whole  ;  as,  the  -pole,  for  the  earth  )  the  head,  for 
Ihe  person. 

Triginta  mina'/ro  capite  tuo  dcdi.    Pldutus. 

Analysis.  The  peculiar  beauty  of  this  figure  consists  in  marking  that 
part,  which  makes  the  greatest  figure. 

X.  The  name  of  the  conlainer,  to  signify  what  is  contained. 

Illus.  Grove,  for  birds  in  it ;  as,  vocal  grove.  Ships  for  the  seamen  ', 
as,  agonizing  skips.  Mountains  lor  the  sheep  pasturing  on  them  ;  asj 
bleating  mountains.     The  kctUe  for  the  water  ;  as,  the  kettle  boil!". 

XI    The  name  olthc  sustaiaer.  io  signify  what  is  sustained. 


i4^  Table  of  Figures. 

Tllus.  Altar i  for  sacrifice  ;  field,  for  the  battle  fought  upon  it ;  ai. 
well-foii^ht /tc/rf.     (§X.;).  140.) 

XII.  The  name  of  the  materials,  to  sig^nify  the  things  made  of  them  : 
as,  hemp,  for  rope  ;  cold  steel,  for  a  sword  ;  lead^  for  a  bullet. 

XIII.  The  names  of  the  Gods  and  Goddesses,  em^ployed  figuratively^ 
to  signify  what  they  patronize. 

Jllus.  Jove  for  tiie  air,  Mars  for  war,  Venus  for  beauty,  Cupid  for 
iove,  Ceres  for  corn,  Keptunt  for  the  sea,  Vulcan  for  fire. 

This  figure  bestows  great  elevation  upon  the  subject  :  and  therefore 
*nght  to  be  confined  to  the  higher  strains  of  poetry. 


SECOND  TABLE. 
uittributcs  expressed  ffguratively, 

\.  When  two  attributes  are  connected,  the  name  of  the  one  may  b( 
iiployed  figuratively,  to  express  the  other. 

Jllus.  Purily  for  virginity.  These  are  attributes  of  the  same  person 
or  thing ;  hence  the  expression,  virgin  snow,  for  pure  snow ;  virgin 
;old,  for  gold  unalloyed. 

H.  A  word  signifying  pr'-perly  an  attribute  of  one  subject,  employed 
,    aratively  to  express  a  resembling  attribute  of  another  subject. 
llhu.  1 .   Tottering  state,  iviperio us  ocetiu,  angty  flood,  raging  tempest 
allov)  fears. 

My  sure  divinity  shall  bear  the  shield. 

And  edge  tliy  «word  to  rtap  the  glorious  field.    Odyssey,  xx.  61. 

2.  Black  omen,  for  an  omeu  that  portends  bad  fortune  :  as,  ater  odor 
>rgil. 

Obs.  The  peculiar  beauty  of  this  figure,  arises  from  suggesting  a 
jinparison. 

III.  A  word  proper  to  the  subject,  employed  to  express  one  of  its 
tributes. 

lUus.  Miiid.  for  intelb^ct  ;  jnind,  for  rc:>olution. 

IV.  When  two  subjects  have  a  resemblance  by  a  common  quality^ 
(he  name  of  the  one  subject  may  be  employed  figuratively,  to  denote 
'hat  quality  in  the  other  ;  as,  summer,  for  agreeable  life. 

V.  The  name  of  the  instrument,  made  to  signify  the  power  of  cmploy- 
tig  it. 

Melpomene,  eui  liquidam  pater 

Vocem  cum  cithara,  Utdit. 

Scholium.  The  ample  field  of  figurative  expression,  displayed  i« 
these  tables,  afibrds  great  scope  for  reasoning^  as  wc  shall  find  in  the 
subsequent  analyses  of  figurative  language. 


Metaphor^  14S 


CHAPTER IL 

METAPHOR. 

•^62.  METAPHOR  is  a  figure  founded  entirely  on  the 
resemblance  which  one  subject  bears  to  another.  Hence,  it 
is  much  allied  to  simile,  or  comparison  ;  and  is  indeed  no 
other  than  a  comparison,  expressed  in  an  abridged  form. 
(^rL  260.) 

Illus,  When  of  some  ^reat  minister  it  is  said,  '<  that  he  upholds  the 
state,  like  a  pillar  which  supports  the  weight  of  a  whole  edifice,"  a 
comparison  is  made  ;  but  wiien  it  is  said  of  such  a  minister,  "  that  he 
is  the  pillar  of  the  state/'  it  is  now  bccorae  a  metaphor. 

Analysis.  The  comparison  betwixt  tlie  minister  and  a  pillar,  is  made 
in  the  mind  ;  but  is  expressed  without  any  of  the  words  that  denote 
comparison.  The  comparison  is  only  insinuated,  not  expressed  ;  the 
one  object  is  supposed  to  be  so  like  the  other,  that  without  formally 
drav/ing  the  comparison,  the  name  of  the  one  may  be  put  in  the  place 
of  the  name  of  the  other.  '*  The  minister  is  the  pillar  of  the  state." 
This,  therefore,  is  a  more  lively  and  animated  manner  of  expressing^ 
the  resemblances  which  iinag^ination  traces  among  objects.  There  is 
nothing  that  delights  the  fancy  more  than  tliis  act  of  comparing  things 
together,  discovering  resemblances  between  them,  and  describing  them 
by  their  likeness.  The  mind  thus  employed,  is  exercised  without  being 
fatigued  ;  and  is  gratified  with  the  consciousness  of  its  own  ingenuity, 
(Scholium,  p.  139.) 

263.  Though  all  metaphor  imports  comparisony  and, 
therefore,  is,  in  that  respect,  a  figure  of  thought ;  y^i^  as 
the  words  in  a  metaphor  are  not  taken  litetally,  but  chang- 
ed from  their  proper  to  a  figurative  sense,  the  metaphor  is 
commonly  ranked  among  tropes  or  figures  of  words.  (Ex- 
ample.  Art.  245.)  But,  provided  tlie  nature  of  it  be  well 
understood,  it  signifies  very  little  whether  we  call  it  a 
figure  or  a  trope.     (Obs,  Art.  254.) 

lUm.  1.  We  have  confined  it  to  the  expression  of  resemblance  be- 
tween two  objects.  We  must  reniark,  however,  that  the  word  meta- 
phor is  sometimes  used  in  a  looser  and  more  extended  sense  ;  for  the 
application  of  a  term  in  any  figurative  signification,  whether  the  figure 
be  founded  on  resemblance,  or  on  some  other  relation  which  two  ob- 
jects bear  to  one  another. 

Example.  For  instance ;  when  gray  hairs  are  put  for  old  age,  as, 
•'  to  bring  one's  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  ;"  some  writers 
would  call  this  a  metaphor,  though  it  is  not  properly  one,  but  what 
rhetoricians  call  a  metonymy  ;  that  is,  the  ^i^iici  put  for  the  cause  ; 
(§.  ir.  p.  139.)  "  gray  hairs"  being  the  effect  of  old  age,  but  jiot  bea^r- 
jng  any  sort  of  resemblance  to  it. 

13^ 


144  Metaphor, 

264,  Of  all  the  figures  of  speech,  none  comes  so'near  to 
painting  as  meUiphor,  Its  peculiar  effect  is  to  give  light 
and  strength  to  description  ;  to  make  intellectual  ideas,  in 
some  sort,  visible  to  the  eye,  bj  giving  them  colour,  and  sub- 
stance, and  sensible  qualities.  In  order,  however,  to  pro- 
duce this  effect,  a  delicate  hand  is  required  ;  for,  by  a  very 
little  inaccuracy,  we  are  in  hazard  of  introducing  confusion, 
in  place  of  promoting  perspicuity.     (Art,  257,) 

Illus.  Several  rules,  therefore,  are  necessary  to  be  given  for  the 
proper  raanagemeiit  of  metaphor.  But,  before  entering-  on  these,  we 
shall  give  one  instance  of  a  very  beauiiful  metaphor,  that  we  may 
shew  the  figuie  to  full  advantage.  Wo  shall  take  our  instance  from 
Lord  Bolingbroke's  Remarks  on  the  History  of  England.  Just  at  the 
conclusion  of  his  work,  he  is  speaking  of  the  behaviowr  of  Charles  1. 
to  his  last  parliament :  *•  In  a  word,"  says  he,  "  about  a  month  after 
their  meeting,  he  dissolved  them  ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  had  dissolved 
them,  he  repented  ;  but  he  repented  too  Fate  of  his  rashnesiv.  Well 
might  he  repent,  for  the  vessel  was  now  full,  aiui  this  last  drop  madj^ 
the  waters  of  bitterness  overflow." — **  Here,"  he  adds,  »<  we  draw  the 
curtain,  and  put  an  end  to  our  remarks." 

.inalyns.  Nothing  could  be  more  happily  thrown  off.  The  meta- 
phor, we  see,  is  continued  through  several  expres.sions.  The  vtssel  is 
put  for  the  state  or  temper  of  the  nation  ah  eady //<//,  that  is,  provoked 
to  the  highest  by  former  oppressions  and  wrongs  ;  this  last  drojiy 
stands  for  the  provocation  recently  i»eceived  by  the  abrupt  dissolution 
of  the  parliament ;  and  the  ovtrfloicingof  the  waters  of  hitteniesSj  beau- 
tifully expresses  all  the  etfects  of  resentment  let  loos*  by  an  exaspera-^ 
tcfl  people. 

Scholia.  Nothing  forms  a  more  spirited  and  dignified  conclusion  of 
a  subject,  than  a  figure  of  this  kind  happily  placed  at  the  close.  We 
see  the  effect  of  it  in  this  instance.  The  author  g(  ^'S  otVwith  a  good 
grace  ;  and  leaves  a  strong  and  full  impression  of  his  subject  on  the 
reader's  mind.  A  metaphor  has  Irequently  an  advantage  above  a  for- 
mal comparison.  How  much  would  the  sentin)ent  here  have  been  en- 
feebled, if  it  had  been  expressed  in  the  style  of  a  regular  simile,  thus  : 
^'  Well  might  he  repent  ;  for  the  sta;e  of  the  nation,  loaded  witij 
grievances  and  provocation,  resembled  a  vessel  that  was  now  full,  and 
this  superadded  provocation,  like  the  last  drop  infused,  made  their 
rage  and  resentment,  as  waters  of  bitterness,  overflow."  It  has  infi- 
nitely more  spirit  and  force  as  it  now  stands,  in  the  form  of  a  metaphor. 
•»  Well  might  he  repent  ;  for  the  vessel  was  now  full  ;  and  this  last 
drop  made  the  waters  of  bitterness  overflow." 

S165.  The  first  rule  to  be  observed  in  the  conduct  of  meta- 
phors, is,  tliat  they  be  suited  to  the  nature  of  the  subject  of 
which  we  treat :  neither  too  many^  nor  too  gay;  nor  too 
elevated  for  it ;  that  we  neither  attempt  to  force  the  subject , 
by  means  of  them,  into  a  degree  of  elevation  which  is  not 
congruous  to  it ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  allow  it  to  sink  be- 
^ow  its  proper  dignity.     (Art.  258.  Illus.  3.) 

IHus.  1.  This  IS  a  direction  which  belongs  to  all  figurative  language. 


Metaphor,  145 

and  should  be  ever  kept  in  view.  Some  metaphors  are  allowable,  nay, 
beautiful  in  poetry,  which  it  would  be  absurd  and  unnatural  to  employ 
in  prose  ;  some  may  be  graceful  in  orations,  which  would  be  very  im- 
proper in  historical  or  philosophical  composition. 

2.  We  must  remember  that   figures  are  the  dress  of  our  sentiments. 

3.  As  there  is  a  natural  congruity  between  dress  and  the  character 
or  rank  of  the  person  who  wears  it,  a  violation  of  this  cong;ruity  never 
fails  to  be  injurious  to  the  person  ;  the  same  holds  precisely  as  to  the 
application  of  figures  to  sentiment. 

4.  The  excessive  or  unseasonable  employment  of  them  is  mere  fop- 
pery in  writing.  It  gives  a  boyish  air  to  composition  ;  and  instead  of 
raising  a  subject,  in  fact,  diminishes  its  dignity.  For,  as  in  life,  true 
dignity  must  be  founded  on  character,  not  on  dress  and  appearance, 
so  the  dignity  of  composition  must  arise  from  sentiment  and  thought, 
not  from  ornament.  The  alTectation  and  parade  of  ornament,  detract 
as  much  from  an  author,  as  they  do  from  a  man.     (Art.  128.) 

Corol.  1.  Figures  and  metaphors,  therefore,  should,  on  no  occasion, 
be  stuck  on  too  profusely  ;  nor  should  they  ever  be  such  as  refuse  to 
accord  with  the  strain  of  our  sentiment. 

2.  Nothing  can  be  more  unnatural,  than  for  a  writer  to  carry  on  a 
strain  of  reasoning,  in  the  same  sort  of  figurative  language  which  h« 
would  use  in  descriptfon.  When  he  reasons,  we  look  only  for  perspi- 
cuity ;  when  he  describes,  we  expect  embellishment ;  when  he  divides, 
or  relates,  we  desire  plainness  and  simplicity. 

Scholia.  One  of  the  greatest  secrets  in  composition  is,  to  know  Miien 
to  be  simple.  J'his  always  gives  a  heightening  to  ornameat,  in  its 
proper  place.  The  right  disposition  of  the  shade  makes  the  light  and 
colouring  strike  the  more.  '^  He  is  truly  eloquent  who  can  discourse 
of  humble  subjects  in  a  plain  style,  who  can  treat  important  ones  wiih 
dignity,  and  speak  of  things  which  are  of  a  middle  nature,  in  a  tenrs- 
periitc  strain.  For  one  who,  upon  no  occasion,  can  express  himself  in 
a  calm,  orderly,  distinct  manner,  when  he  begins  to  be  on  fire  before 
his  readers  are  prepared  to  kindle  along  with  him,  has  the  appearance 
of  raving  like  a  madman  among  persons  who  are  in  their  senses,  or  of 
reeling  like  a  drunkard,  in  the  midst  of  sober  company."^  This  ad- 
monition should  be  particularly  attended  to  by  young  practitionrrs  in 
the  art  of  writing,  who  are  apt  to  be  carried  away  by  an  undistin- 
guishing  admiration  of  what  is  showy  and  florid,  whether  in  its  place 
or  not.f 

266.  The  second  rule  which  we  give,  respects  the  choice 
of  objects,  from  whence  metaphors,  and  other  figures,  are  to 
be  drawn. 

*  "  Is  eniin  est  eloquens,  qui  et  humilia  subtiliter,  et  magna  graviter.  et  mediocria 
temperate,  potest  dicere.  Nam  qui  nihil  potest  tranqiiille,  nihil  leniter,  nihil  definite, 
distincte,  potest  dicere,  is.  cum  non  praeparatis  auribus  inflammare  rem  csepit,  furere 
apiid  sanos,  et  quasi  inter  sobrios  bacchari  temulentus  vidttur  "    Ckero, 

t  What  pei-son  of  the  least  taste  can  bear  the  fbiloAving  passage  in  an  historian  ? 
He  is  giving  an  account  of  the  famous  act  of  parliament  against  irregular  marriages 
in  England  :  "  The  bill,''  says  lie,  "  underwent  a  great  number  of  alterations  and 
amendments,  which  wei-e  not  effected  without  violent  contest."  This  is  plain  lan- 
guage, suited  to  the  subject;  and  we  naturally  expect,  that,  he  should  go  on  in  the 
same  strain,  to  tell  us.  tliat  after  these  contests,  it  was  carried  by  a  great  raajox-ity  of 
voices,  and  obtained  the  royal  assent.  But  how  does  he  express  himself  in  finishing 
the  period  ;  "  At  length,  however,  it  was  floated  through  both  houses  on  the  tide  of 
a  great  majority,  and  steered  into  the' safe  harbour  of  royal  approbation."  Nothing 
tan  be  more  puerile  that  such  language.  Smollett^s  History  of  England,  quoted  in 
'he  Critical  Review  for  Oct.  1761,  p.  251. 


146  Mdaplior. 

(Has.  1.  The  field  far  figurative  language  is  very  wide.  Ail  nature; 
to  speak  in  the  style  of  figures,  opens  its  stores  to  us,  and  admits  us  to 
srather,  from  all  sensible  objects,  whatever  can  illustrate  intellectual  or 
Mior^l  ideas.  Not  only  the  gay  and  splendid  objects  of  sense,  but  the 
\;rave,  the  terrifying,  and  even  the  gloomy  and  dismal,  may,  on  differ- 
ent occasions,  be  introduced  into  figures  with  propriety. 

2.  But  we  must  beware  of  ever  using  such  allusions  as  raise  in  the 
mind  disagreeable,  mean,  vulgar,  or  dirty  ideas.  Even  when  meta- 
phors are  chosen  in  order  to  vilify  and  degrade  any  object,  an  author 
fchou'd  study  never  to  be  nauseous  in  his  allusions.  Ijut,  in  subjects 
of  dignity,  it  is  an  unpardonable  fault  to  introduce  mean  and  vulgar 
metaphors. 

Obs.  1.  In  the  treatise  on  the  Art  of  Sinking,  in  Dean  Swift's  works, 
there  is  a  full  and  humorous  collection  of  instances  of  this  kind,  where- 
in autliors,  instead  of  exalting,  have  contrived  to  degrade  their  sub- 
jects by  the  figures  which  they  cmplo^'cd. 

2.  Autijors  of  greater  note  than  those  which  are  there  quoted,  have 
at  times  fallen  into  this  error.  Archbishop  J  iilotson,  for  instance,  is 
sometimes  negligent  in  his  choice  of  metaphors  ;  as,  when  speaking 
of  the  day  of  Judgment,  he  describes  the  world,  as  **  cracking  about 
the  sinners'  ears." 

3.  Shakespeare,  whose   imngination  was  rich' and  bold,  in   a  much 
reater  degree  than  it  was  delicate,  often  tails  here. 

Example.  The  following  is  a  gross  transgression  ;  in  his  Henry  V., 
Iiaving  mentioned  a  dung -hill,  he  presently  raises  a  metaphor  from  the 
steam  of  it  ;  and  on  a  subject  too,  that  naturally  led  to  much  nobler 
ideas  : 

Ami  those  tliat  leave  their  valiant  bones  in  Fitince, 

Dying;  like  men,  thouj^h  buritd  in  your  dunghills, 

I'ney  shall  be  I'amtd  ;  for  there  the  sun  shnll  grctt  them, 

Ar.d  draw  their  honoui-s  recking  up  to  heaven.    Act  IV,  Sicne  8. 

2G7.  In  the  third  place,  as  metaphors  should  be  drawn 
from  objects  of  some  dignity,  so  particular  care  should  be 
uik^ix  tlvAi  ihQ  r 66' cmblancCf  which  is  i\\Q  foimdation  o(  the 
metaphor,  be  clear  and  perspicuous,  not  far-fctchedy  nor 
difficult  to  discover.  The  transgression  of  this  rule  makes, 
what  is  called  harsh  or  forced  metaphors,  which  arc  always 
displeasing,  because  they  puzzle  the  reader,  and  instead  of 
illustrating  the  thought,  render  it  perplexed  and  intricate. 

J'dus.  With  metaphors  of  this  kind  Cowley  abounds.  He,  and  some 
•if  the  writers  of  his  age,  seemed  to  have  considered  it  as  the  perfcc- 
lon  of  wit,  to  hit  upon  likenesses  between  objects  which  no  other  pcr- 
von  could  have  discovered  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  pursue  those 
metaphors  so  far,  that  it  requires  some  ingenuity  to  follow  them  out, 
and  comprehend  them.  This  makes  a  metaphor  resemble  an  enigma  ; 
and  is  the  very  reverse  of  Cicero's  rule  on  tliis  head  :  •'  Every  metaphor 
should  be  modest,  so  that  it  may  carry  the  appearance  ol  having 
been  led,  not  of  having  forced  itself  into  the  place  of  that  word  whose 
room  it  occupies  ;  that  it  may  seem  to  have  come  thither  of  its  own  * 
accord,  and  not  by  constraint.'* 

•  «  Verecunda  debet  esse,  translatio ;  ut  deducta  esse  in  alicnum  locum  non  jrriussJ* 
atque  ut  voluntario  iiou  vi  rtnisse  videaiur"        Dc  Orutorc,  hb,  id.  c,  53. 


Metaphor,  147 

2.  To  be  new,  and  not  vulgar,  is  a  beauty.  Trite  and  common  re- 
semblances should  indeed  be  avoided  in  our  metaphors.  But  when 
they  are  fetched  from  some  likeness  too  remote,  and  lying  too  far  out 
of  the  road  of  ordinary  thought,  then,  besides  their  obscurity,  they 
have  also  the  disadvantage  of  appearing  laboured,  and,  as  the  French 
call  it,  "  recherche."  Metaphors,  like  all  other  ornaments,  lose  their 
whole  grace,  when  they  do  not  seem  natural  and  easy, 

3.  It  is  but  a  bad  and  ungraceful  softening,  v/hich  writers  sometimes 
use  for  a  harsh  metaphor,  when  they  palliate  it  with  the  expression, 
ns  it  were.  This  is  but  an  awkward  parenthesis  ;  and  metaphors^ 
which  need  this  apology  of  an  as  tt  were,  would,  generally,  have  been 
better  omitted.  (See  Jirt.  166.)  Metaphors,  too,  borrowed  from  any 
of  the  sciences,  especially  such  of  them  as  belong  to  particular  profes- 
sions, are  almost  always  faulty  by  their  obscurity.     (Jirt.  84.  Illus.) 

268.  In  the  fourth  place,  it  must  be  carefully  attended  to, 
la  the  conduct  of  metaphors,  never  to  jumble  inetaphorical 
and  plain  language  together  :  never  to  construct  a  period 
so,  that  part  of  it  must  be  understood  metaphorically,  part 
literally  :  tiiis  always  produces  a  most  disagreeable  confu- 
sion. 

Example  l.   Long  to  my  joys  my  dearest  lord  is  lost. 

His  country's  buckler,  and  the  Grecian  boast ; 

Now  from  my  fond  embrace  by  tempests  toni, 

Our  other  column  of  the  state  is  borne, 

Nor  took  a  kind  adieu,  nor  sought  consent.*    Odyssey  IV.  962. 

Analysis.  Here,  in  one  line,  her  son  is  figured  as  a  column  ;  and  ib 
ihe  next,  he  returns  to  be  a  person,  to  whom  it  belongs  to  take  adieu, 
and  to  ask  consent.  This  is  inconsistent.  The  poet  should  either 
have  kept  himself  to  the  idea  of  man,  in  the  literal  sense  ;  or  if  he 
figured  him  by  a  column,  be  should  have  ascribed  nothing  to  him  but 
i^hat  belonged  to  it.  He  was  not  at  liberty  to  ascribe  to  that  column 
the  actions  and  properties  of  a  man.  Such  unnatural  mixtures  render 
the  image  indistinct  ;  leaving  it  to  waver,  in  our  conception,  between 
the  figurative  and  the  literal  sense. 

Example  2.  Pope,  elsewhere,  addressing  himself  to  the  king,  says, 

To  thee  the  world  its  present  homage  pays, 
The  harvest  early,  but  mature  the  praise. 

Jinalysis.  This,  though  not  so  gross,  is  a  fault,  however,  of  the  same 
Kind.  It  is  plain,  that  had  not  the  rhyme  misled  him  to  the  choice  of 
;in  improper  phrase,  he  would  have  said, 

The  harvest  early,  but  mature  the  crop  : 

and  so  would  have  continued  the  figure  which  he  had  begun.    Whereas, 
by  dropping  it  unfinished,    and  by  employing  the  literal  word,  praise, 

*  In  the  original,  there  is  no  allusion  to  a  column,  ?ind  the  metaphor  is  regularly 
supported : 

'H  rrptv  iicv  -rrocriv  hS^'Xov  aTtij)fxtaa  ^H^oXtovra 

HavTOirjs  apcTyjcri  KCKaafiCvov  ev  Anvaotoi 

Eff-^Aov,  Ttf  K^Eog  ivpv  koO^  'EXXa^a  koi  littrov  Apyoc 

jSvv  d*  av  nai&'  ayantjrov  avrjpciipavTo  dvsWai  ■■*r'-^'^v^ 


148  Mptahpor. 

when  t^e  were  expecting  something  that  related  to  the  harvest,  ih^i 
figure  is  broken,  and  the  two  members  oi  the  sentence  have  no  proper 
correspondence  with  ench  other  : 

The  huTvett  early,  but  mature  the  praise. 

Example  3.  The  works  of  Ossian  abonnd  with  brantiful  and  correct 
metaphors  :  such  as  that  on  a  hero  .  "  In  pewce,  ^ho'  art  the  gnle  ol' 
spring;  in  war,  the  motintrnn  storm  "  {^\•  \>\\^  ^^\^.  n  woman;  "  t;ihe 
was  covered  with  the  light  of  btM  as  th-   hcj^e  of 

pride." 

Exception.  They  afford,  however,  one  instance  of  iae  fault  wj  are 
now  censuring  :  *'  Trothal  uetit  forth  with  the  streaoi  of  his  people, 
but  they  met  a  rock  :  for  Fingal  stood  unmoved  *,  brrken  ♦hey  rolled 
>)ack  from  his  side  :  nor  did  they  roll  in  safety ;  the  spear  of  the  king 
pursued  their  flight.' 

Analysis.  At  the  beginning,  the  metaphor  is  very  beautiful.  The 
-tream,  the  unmoved  rock,  the  waves  rolling  back  broken,  are  expres- 
sions employed  in  the  proper  and  consistent  language  of  figure  ;  but 
n  the  end,  when  we  are  told,  "  the^  did  not  roll  in  safctv,  because  the 
-^pear  of  the  king  pursued  their  flight,"  the  literal  meaning;  is  improper- 
ly mixed  with  the  mctaj)hor  ;  they  are,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  prc- 
^ciited  to  us  as  waves  that  ro//,  and  men  that  may  be  pursued  and 
fcowided  ui(h  a  spear. 

269.  In  the  fifth  place,  never  make  two  different  meta- 
phors 7n€et  071  one  object.  This  is  what  is  called  mixed  met- 
aphor, and  is  indeed  one  of  the  grossest  abuses  of  this  figure ; 
such  as  vShakespcare's  expression,  "  to  take  arms  against  a 
sea  of  troubles."  This  makes  a  most  unnatural  medley, 
and  confounds  the  imaginatitm  entirely. 

Hlus.  Quinctilian  has  sufllciently  guarded  us  against  it.  **  We  n)ust 
be  jiaiticularly  alleutive  to  end  with  the  same  kind  of  metaphor  with 
which  we  have  begun.  Some,  when  they  begin  tlie  figure  with  a  tem- 
pest, conclude  it  with  a  conflagration ;  which  forms  a  sbamcful  incon- 

ii»triu:v."* 

'"■»■■  The  charm  diisolvea  apace, 

And  as  the  numung^  steal*  upon  the  iiij^ht, 
Meliing  ihf  darku.  ss.  so  Uuir  r'xsxuf;  senaei 
Begin  to  chase  tht-  ignorant  fninci  that  manrl^^ 
Tlieir  clearer  reason.    Tempest, 

Analysis.  What  an  inconsistent  groupe  of  objects  is  brought  together 
in  this  passage,  which  professes  to  describe  persons  recovering  their 
judgment  after  the  enchantment,  that  ')eld  them,  was  dissolved  !  So 
many  ill  sorted  things  are  hce  joined,  that  the  mind  can  see  nothing 
clearly  ;  the  morning  sleaun^  upon  the  darkness,  and  at  the  same  time^ 
vielting  it  ;  the  senses  of  men  chasing  fumesj  ignoraid  fumes^  an^ 
fumes  that  mant'e. 

Example  2.   So  again  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  : 

■  as  glorious, 
As  is  a  winj^c^  niessenger  from  heaven, 
Unto  th<'  white  uptuiutd  wondtnng  eyes 

•  "  Id  imprimis  est  custodiendum,  nt  quo  genere  ccpperis  franslationis,  hoc  fIniM> 
Multi  auuin  cum  initjum  a  Kiupesiate  sumseruni,  ineendjo  aut  rofna  finiant  ;  cju% 
«?  ii)fOuseii«ieniia  rerum  fce^£?jn'.a." 


Metaphor.  I  ii) 

Ot  mortals,  tbat  fall  back  to  gaze  ob  him, 
%Vhtn  he  bestridts  the  lazj-paciiig  clouds, 
And  sails  upon  the  bosom  of  the  air. 

liialysu.  Here,  the  angel  is  reprosentficl  as,  at  one  moment,  bestride 
^  the  clouds,  and  sailing  upon  the  air  ;  and  upon   the  bosom  of  the 

ail  too;  which  forir.s  such  a  confused  picture,  that  it  is  impossible  for 

any  imagir.ation  to  comprehend  it. 

Example  3.  More  correct  writers  than   Shakespeare  sometimes  fall 

into  this  error  of  mixing*  metaphors. 

I  bridle  in  my  struggling  muse  i(vith  pain, 
That  long^s  to  launch  into  a  bolder  strain.* 

Jiaalysls.  The  muse,  figured  as  a  horse,  may  be  bridled  ;  but  when 
\vc  spea':  o^  liunchins^^  we  make  it  a  ship  ;  and  by  no  force  of  imag"in- 
KtioM  "in  it  '-'•'.  supposed  boih  a  horse  and  a  ship  at  one  moment  ;  bri- 
dled,  to  hinder  it  fror^  launching,  W^^re  we  to  try  this  metaphor  by 
Addisoa's  own  rule  :  amely,  to  suppose  iYiC  figure  painted,  it  v/ould 
appear  more  g^roti-sque  than  any  of  Kogaith's  subjects.  That  the 
muse,  from  hor  connexion  with  the  vving^ed  horse  Pegasus,  might  some- 
limes  require  the  bridle,  is  not  perhaps  very  unnatural.  But  were  she 
painted  in  an  attitude  in  -svhich  the  bridle  prevented  her  from  launch- 
ing or  jumping  into  the  sea  ;  or  were  a  picture  to  exhibit  a  ship  launch- 
ed, not  into  the  sea,  bat  upon  a  sheet  of  paper,  or  into  a  song,  the 
spectator  would  feel  something  of  the  disposition  inspired  by  the  mon- 
ster of  Horace, 

Spectatiim  admissi  risum  teneatis  amici. 

But  the  muse  is  a  goddess.  Now  to  bridle  a  goddess  is  no  very  deli 
f;ate  idea.  But  why  must  she  be  bridled  .'*  becaus^e  she  longs  to  launch  ; 
4tn  act  which  was  never  hindered  by  a  bridle.  And  whither  will  sl/e 
launch  ?  into  a  nobler  strain.  She  h  in  the  fitst  line  a.  goddess,  or  a 
horse,  in  the  second,  a  boat  or  r  javelin,  ("for  both  -may  be  launched) 
and  the  care  of  the  poet  is  to  keep  hi:*  horse,  or  his  boat,  or  his  F.pear, 
¥rom  singing. 

270.  Addison's  rule  is  a  good  one  for  examinincr  the  pro- 
])ncty  of  metaphors,  when  we  doubt  whether  or  not  they  be 
of  the  mixed  kind  :  namely,  that  we  should  try  to  form  a 
picture  upon  them,  and  consider  how  the  parts  would  agree^ 
and  what  sort  of  figure  the  whole  would  present,  when  de- 
lineated with  a  pencil,  ^j  this  means  w^e  should  become 
sensible,  whether  inconsistent  circumstances  were  mixed, 
and  a  monstrous  image  thereby  produced,  as  in  all  those 
faulty  instances  which  have  been  given  ;  or  whether  the  ob- 
ject was  throughout  presented  in  one  natural  and  consistent 
point  of  view. 

271.  As  metaphors  ought  never  to  be  mixed  ;  so  in  Ww. 
sixth  place,  we  should  avoid  crowding  them  together  on  the 
same  object.  Supposing  each  of  the  metaphors  to  be  pre- 
seTved  distinct,  yet,  if  they  be  heaped  on  one  another,  the\ 

*  Addison. 


15G  Metaphor . 

produce  a  confusion  somewhat  of  the  same  kind  wun  iii'- 
mixed  metaphor. 

Example  i.  '*  There  is  a  time,  when  factions,  by  the  vehemence  of 
their  fermentation,  stun,  and  disable  one  another*," 

Analysis.  Tlie  noble  author  represents  factions,  first,  as  discordant 
fluids,  the  mixture  of  which  produces  violent  fermentation  ;  but  he 
quickly  relinquishes  this  viesv  of  them,  and  imputes  to  them  operations 
and  effects,  consequent  only  on  the  supposition  of  their  being^  solid 
bodies  in  motion.  They  maim  and  dismember  one  another  by  forcible 
collisions. 

Exatnpfe  2.  '<  Those  whose  minds  are  dull  and  heavy  do  not  easily 
penetrate  into  the  folds  and  intricacies  of  an  aflair,  and  therefore  can 
only  scum  off  what  tl\ey  find  at  the  topf." 

Analysis.  That  the  writer  had  a  right  to  represent  his  affair,  what- 
ever it  was,  either  as  a  bale  of  cloth  or  a  fluid,  nobody  can  deny.  But 
the  laws  of  common  sense  and  perspicuity  demanded  of  him  to  keep 
it  either  the  one  or  the  other,  because  it  could  not  be  both  at  the  same 
time.  It  was  absurd,  therefore,  after  he  had  penetrated  the  folds  of 
it,  an  operation  competent  only  on  the  supposition  of  its  being  some 
pliable  body,  to  speak  of  scumming  off  what  floated  on  the  surface, 
which  could  not  be  performed  unless  it  was  a  fluid. 

272.  The  only  otlier  rule  concerning  metaphors,  which 
we  shall  add,  is,  that  they  be  7iot  too  Jar  pursued.  If  the 
resembUince  on  which  the  fi^jure  is  founded,  be  long  dwelt 
upon,  and  carried  into  all  its  minute  circumstances,  we 
make  an  allegory  instead  of  a  metaphor  ;  we  tire  the  reader, 
who  soon  becomes  weary  of  this  play  of  fancy  ;  and  we 
render  our  discourse  obscure.  This  is  called  straining  a 
metaphor. 

Crilick  1     '  •      .      .    :   ,    (.wing, 

in  a  great  uic:i>«jrr,  tliiii  intruary  and  liorsfmo^iSj  lu  his  lii;urative  lan- 
guage, which  we  before  remarked.     (Art.  207.) 

2.  Lord  Shaftesbury  is  sometimes  guilty  of  pursuing  his  metaphors 
too  far.  Fond,  to  a  high  degree,  of  every  decoration  of  style,  when 
once  he  had  hit  upon  a  figure  (hat  pleased  him,  he  was  extremely  l»th 
to  part  with  it. 

3.  Dr.  Young  also  often  trespasses  in  the  same  w.iy .  The  mtrit, 
however,  of  this  writer,  in  figu»ative  language,  is  gr*at,  and  deserve.* 
to  be  remarked.  No  writer,  ancient  or  modern,  had  a  stronger  ima- 
gination than  Dr.  Young,  or  one  more  fertile  in  figures  of  every  kind. 
His  metaphors  are  often  new,  and  often  natural  and  beautiful.  But 
his  imagination  wag  strong  and  rich,  rather  than  delicate  and  correct. 
Hence,  in  his  Night  'Ihouffhts,  there  prevail  au  obscurity,  and  a  hard- 
ness in  his  stvle.  The  metaphors  are  frequently  to*»  bold,  and  fre- 
quently too  far  pursued  ;  the  reader  is  dazzled  rather  than  enlighten- 
ed ;  and  kept  constantly  on  the  stretch  to  keep  pace  with  the  author. 

4.  Of  all  ihe  English  authors,  none  is  so  happy  in  his  metaphors  as 
Addison.  His  imagination  was  neither  so  rich  nor  so  strong  as  Dr. 
Young's  ;  but  far  more  chaste  and  delicate.  Perspicuity,  natural 
grace,  and  ease,  always  distinguish  his  figures.     They  arc  neither 

'  Bolingbroke.  t  Swift, 


Metaphor.  151 

harsh  nor  strained ;  they  never  appear  to  have  been  studied  or  sought 
after  ;  but  seem  to  rise  of  their  own  accord  from  the  subject,  and  con- 
stantly embellish  it. 

Scholia  1.  Metaphors  expressed  by  single  words  may,  it  seems,  be 
introduced  on  every  occasion,  from  the  most  careless  effusions  of  con- 
versation, to  the  highest  and  most  passionate  expression  of  tragedy  ; 
and  on  all  these  occasions  they  are,  perhaps,  the  most  beautiful  and 
significant  language  that  can  be  employed.  There  is  no  doubt  of  the 
justness  of  this  observation  with  regard  to  any  species  of  speaking  or 
writing,  except  that  which  denotes  violent  passion,  concerning  which 
the  practice  of  the  most  correct  performers  is  not  uniform  ;  some  of 
them  rejecting,  others  admitting,  the  use  of  such  fi-gures. 

2.  Short  metaphors  appear  with  perfect  propriety  in  oratory,  me- 
moirs, essays,  novels,  but  particularly  in  history.  The  historian  is 
scarcely  permitted  to  indulge  in  hunting  after  comparisons  ;  he  is  sel- 
dom allowed  to  introduce  the  more  elevated  and  poetical  figures  of 
apostrophe  and  personification  ;  he  is  not  €ven  at  liberty  to  amuse 
with  metaphors  extended  to  many  circumstances  of  resemblance,  but 
to  those  expressed  in  single  or  few  words,  he  has  the  most  approved 
access.  Such  ornaments  are  the  proper  implements  of  a  vigorous  and 
decisive  mind,  which  has  leisure  only  to  snatch  a  ray  of  embellishment 
from  a  passing  object,  without  turning  aside  from  its  capital  pursuit. 
The  superior  attention  of  the  historian  to  the  matter  of  which  he  treats, 
the  dignity  and  gravity  of  his  style,  which  ought  to  correspond  to  the 
importance  of  his  matter,  call  upon  him  to  communicate  his  thoughts 
in  the  most  correct,  perspicuous,  and  forcible  language  ;  and  such,  in 
a  serene  state  of  the  mind,  is  the  language  of  short  metaphor. 

S.  Both  Shakespeare  and  Otway  conceived  short  metaphors  to  be 
perfectly  consistent  with  the  most  violent  agitations  of  passion.  It  is 
in  vain  to  appeal  to  the  authority  of  other  tragic  poets.  They  are 
unanimous  for  the  use  of  similar  metaphors  in  similar  situations.  Ma^ 
ny  of  them,  indeed,  have  so  overloaded  their  pathetic  scenes  with  this 
Sarilliant  ornament,  that  it  obscures  the  meaning,  diminishes  the  im^ 
pression,  and  sometimes  disgusts  the  reader. 

4.  But  extended  metaphors,  which  chiefly  amuse  the  imagination  by 
a  great  variety  of  pretty  and  pleasant  resemblances,  are  much  more 
circumscribed  in  their  appearance.  They  are  too  refined  to  occur  in 
oonversation,  or  on  any  occasion  that  allows  not  time  for  recollection, 
and  for  tracing  similitudes  which  are  at  least  so  remote  and  unexpect'- 
ed  as  to  surprise  and  captivate.  They  present  themselves  with  per- 
fect grace,  in  pulpit-oratory,  in  political  writings,  in  works  of  criticism, 
and  in  essays.  But  their  peculiar  provnice  is  descriptive  poetry,  and 
the  dispassionate  parts  of  epic.  They  are  inconsistent  with  violent 
passion,  and  are  seldom  introduced  with  success  into  tragedy.  They 
are  calculated  enthely  to  please  the  imagination.  They  interfere  with 
all  the  strong  feelings  of  the  heart.  The  mind  that  can  either  utter 
or  relish  thcra  may  be  gay  and  elevated,  but  must  be  composed  ani 
tranquil.  Under  the  pressure  of  deep  distress,  they  are  disgusting  an4 
r^T^toierable. 


14 


i  ^'^  Comparisoih 


CHAPTER  III. 

COMPARISONS    OR    SIMILES. 

2r^.  COMPARISONS  or  similes  differ  chiefly  from 
metaphors  in  the  vigour  of  imagination  with  which  they 
are  conceived.  In  the  use  of  metaphors,  we  suppose  the 
j)rimary  object  transformed  into  the  resembling  one.  In 
the  use  of  comparisons  we  soar  not  so  high,  but  content 
ourselves  with  reniarking  similitude  merely. 

Illus.  1.  In  all  comparisons  there  should  be  found  something  new  or 
surprising:  in  order  to  ))lease  and  illustrate.  There  is  nothing  new  or 
surprising  in  the  resemblance  of  the  individuals  oi  the  same  species, 
as  when  we  say,  one  man,  or  one  horse,  or  one  oak,  is  like  another  j 
because  these  individuals  are  formed  by  nature  similar,  and  no  com- 
parison instituted  between  them  can  be  suppose<l  to  produce  any  nov- 
elty or  surprise.  To  find,  then,  resemblances  which  are  new  or  sur- 
prising, and  which,  consequently,  may  produce  pleasure  or  iliu.stration, 
we  must  search  for  them  where  they  are  not  commonly  to  be  expect- 
ed, between  things  of  different  species. 

Example.  If,  for  instance,  1  discover  a  resemblance  between  a  man 
and  a  horse  in  swiftness,  between  a  man  and  an  oak  in  strength,  or 
between  a  man  and  a  rock  in  stca<liness,  such  resemblances,  being 
new,  and  generally  unobserved,  excite  surprise  and  pleasure,  and  im- 
prove my  conceptions  of  the  swiftness,  strength,  and  steadiness,  of  the 
man. 

Corol.  Hence  results  the  first  general  principle  concerning  good 
comparisons  of  resemblance  ;  they  must  be  drawn  from  one  species 
of  things  to  another,  and  never  instituted  between  things  of  the  same 
species. 

Illus.  2.  Again,  when  we  place  a  great  object  opposite  to  a  little 
one,  a  beautiful  picture  to  an  indifTereut  one,  or  one  shade  of  the  same 
colour  to  another ;  we  are  surprised  to  find,  that  things  which  seemed 
so  much  alike  differ  so  widely.  We  conceive  the  beauties  and  defects 
of  the  objects  contrasted  greater,  perhaps,  than  they  really  are,  at 
least  much  greater  than  they  appear  when  surveyed  apart. 

Corol.  Hence  is  derived  the  second  principle  respecting  compari- 
sons, that  contrasts  must  be  instituted  between  things  of  the  same 
species,  because  no  pleasure  or  illustration  can  result  from  finding  dis- 
similitude between  things  naturally  different. 

Ilhts.  3.  As  it  is  necessary  there  should  be  resemblance  in  all  com- 
parisons, it  is  obvious  that  the  objects  of  different  senses  cannot  furnish 
ibundation  for  them.  There  is  no  resemblance  between  a  sound  and 
jk  colour,  a  smell,  and  a  surface  of  velvet. 

Corol.  Comparisons,  then,  nmst  farther  take  place  between  the  ob- 
jects of  the  same  sense  ;  and,  as  the  sight  is  the  most  lively  and  dis- 
tinct of  all  the  senses,  and  the  ideas  it  communicates  make  the  deep- 
est Impression  on  the  mind,  the  most  beautiful  and  striking  compari 
sons  are  deduced  from  the  objects  of  this  sense.  (SiC  the  Ex.  nnd 
Aiialym  ft  Art.  218.) 


Comparison.  153 

illus.  4.  But  though  the  far  greater  part  of  comparisons  result  from 
the  rese«iblauce  of  the  qualities  of  sensible  objects  alone,  yet  they  are 
sometimes  instituted  between  the  qualities  of  sensible  auu  intellectual 
objects. 

Example  Thus,  Shakespeare  compares  adversity  to  a  toad,  and 
slander  to  the  bite  of  a  crocodile. 

Scholium.  In  all  these  cases,  however,  the  abstract  or  intellectual  ob- 
ject is  personified,  and  the  comparison  is  founded  on  the  supposed  tq- 
semblance  which  the  qualities  of  the  intellectual  object  bear  to  those  of 
the  sensible  object,  after  the  former  also  has  become  a  sensible  object. 

Jllus.  5.  In  addition  to  the  kinds  of  similes  already  explained,  there 
is  another  that  frequently  occurs,  in  which  the  effects  only  of  two  ob- 
jects are  compared.  The  same  analogy  takes  place  with  regard  to 
them,  which  was  formerly  observed  to  appear  in  the  resemblance  of 
the  sound  of  words  to  their  sense.  (Jlrt.  225.)  Ihe  objects  com- 
pared are  not  perhaps  similar  in  their  qualities,  at  least  the  merit  of 
the  figure  does  not  depend  on  this  circumstance,  but  upon  the  similar' 
ily  of  (he  impressions  or  emotions  they  produce  in  the  mind. 

Examples.  Upon  this  principle,  the  following  comparisons  are  suc- 
cessfully framed. 

1.  "  Often,  like  the  evening  sun,  comes  the  memory  of  former  times 
on  my  soul*." 

2.  '<  The  music  was  like  the  memory  of  joys  that  are  past,  pleasant 
and  mournful  to  the  soulf.'' 

3.  "  Sorrow,  like  a  cloud  on  the  sun,  shades  the  soul  of  Clessa- 
mour|." 

4.  "  Pleasant  are  the  words  of  the  song,  and  lovely  are  the  tales  of 
other  times.  1  hey  are  like  the  dew  of  the  morning  on  the  hill  of  roses, 
when  the  sun  is  faint  on  its  side,  and  the  lake  is  settled  and  blue  in  the 
valej]." 

Analysis.  There  is  no  resemblance  between  the  evening  sun  and  the 
memory  of  past  joys,  between  sorrow  and  a  cloud,  or  between  the 
vi'ords  of  the  seng,  and  the  dew  ^f  the  morning  ;  but  every  person 
must  perceive,  that  by  these  objects  similar  impressions  or  emotions 
are  excited  in  the  mind. 

274.  All  comparisons  may  be  reduced  to  the  following 
heads.  I.  Those  which  improve  our  conceptions  of  the  ob^ 
jects  they  are  brought  to  illustrate, — we  call  explaining  com- 
parisons,  IL  Those  which  augment  the  pleasure  of  ima- 
gination by  a  splendid  assemblage  of  other  adjacent  and 
agreeable  objects,— we  call  embellishing  comparisons.  III. 
And,  finally,  those  which  elevate  or  depress  the  principal 
object,  an  operation  often  requisite  in  writing,  but  more 
particularly  in  speaking, — we  call  comparisons  of  advan- 
tage,  or  of  disadvantage. 

^75.  Allmanner  of  subjects  admit  of  ca7j/t7mi;2/*'co?r?;j)«r- 
isons.  Let  an  author  be  reasoning  ever  so  strictly,  or  treat- 
ing the  most  abstruse  point  in  philosophy,  he  may  very  pro 

•  OsiiaB.  ■]'  Ibid.  I  Ibid,  1.;  Ibid, 


154  Gomparison* 

perlj  introduce  a  comparison,  merely  witii  a  view  to  Eiiett^ 
his  subject  better  understood. 

Example.  Of  this  nature  is  the  following  in  Harris's  Hermes,  em- 
ployed to  explain  a  very  abstract  point,  the  distinction  between  the 
powers  of  sense  and  imagination  in  the  human  mind.  "  As  wax," 
says  he;  '*  would  not  be  adequate  to  the  purpose  of  signature,  if  it  had 
xiot  the  power  to  retain  as  well  as  to  receive  the  impression,  the  same 
holds  of  the  soul  with  respect  to  sense  and  imagination.  Sense  is  its 
receptive  power  ;  imagination  its  retentive.  Had  it  sense  without  im- 
agination,  it  would  not  be  as  wax,  but  as  water,  where,  though  all  im- 
pres.sions  be  instantly  made,  yet  as  soon  as  they  are  made  they  are 
instantly  lost." 

IHus.  In  comparisons  of  this  nature  the  understanding  is  concerned 
much  more  than  the  fancy  :  and  therefore  the  only  rules  to  be  observ- 
ed, with  respect  to  them,  are,  1.  That  they  be  cTear  ;  II.  Tliat  they 
be  useful ;  III.  That  they  tend  to  render  our  conception  of  the  prinei- 
titii    object  more  distinct  ;  and   IV.  That  they  do  not  lead  our  view 

ide,  and  bewilder  it  with  any  false  light. 

'276.  The  most  vigorous  imagination  caft  scarcely  be  sup- 
posed to  have  conceived  more  striking  comparisons,  or  bet- 
ter adapted  to  improve  our  conceptions  of  the  principal  ob- 
ject, than  the  folhnving  ones  of  Shakespeare.  Describin*^ 
'he  eftectft  of  concealed  love,  he  makes  this  happy  compari- 
^n  : 

"  She  never  told  her  love, 
P.ut  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  in  th.-  bud, 
Fred  on  her  damask  cheek.    She  pined  in  Uiought, 
And  with  a  green  and  yellou  melancholy, 
Shu  sat.  like  patience  ou  a  monument, 
Smiling  at  grief*." 

277.  Embetiislmig  comparisons, — those  with  which  wt- 
afe  chierty  concerned  at  present,  as  figures  of  speech — arc^ 
introduced  not  so  much  with  a  view  to  inform  and  instruct, 
as  to  adorn  the  subject  of  which  we  treat ;  and  they  are 
tliose,  indeed,  that  most  frequently  occur. 

lUus.  Resemblance  is  the  foundation  of  this  figure.  We  must  not, 
however,  take  resemblance,  in  too  strict  a  sense,  for  actual  similitude 
and  likeness  of  appearuncc.  Two  objects  may  sometimes  be  very  hap- 
yily  compared  to  one  another,  though  they  resemble  each  other,  strict- 
ly speaking,  in  nothing  ;  only  because  they  agree  in  the  effects  whicli 
thev  produce  upon  the  mind  ;'  because  they  raise  a  train  of  similar,  or, 
what  may  be  called,  concordant  ideas  ;  so  that  the  remembrance  of 
the  one,  when  recalled,  serves  to  strengthen  the  impression  made  by 
the  other.     (lUus.  5.  .Irt.  273.) 

Example  1.  To  describe  the  nature  of  soft  and  melancholy  mrsie, 
Ossian  says,  *'  The  music  of  Carryl  was,  like  the  memory  of  joys  that 
are  past,  pleasant  and  mournful  to  the  soul," 

jinalysis.  This  is  happy  and  delicate.  Yet  surely,  no  kind  of  music 
has  any  resemblance  to  a  feeling  of  the  mind,  such  as  tb€  memory  <^^ 

*  Twirlfth  Night,  A<it  11.  Sc  4. 


Comparison »  lod 

past  joys.  Had  it  been  compared  to  the  voice  of  the  nightingale,  or 
the  murmur  of  the  stream,  as  it  would  have  been  by  some  ordinary 
poet,  the  likeness  would  have  been  more  strict  ;  but,  by  founding  his 
simile  upon  the  effect  which  Carry I's  music  produced,  Ossian,  while 
he  conveys  a  very  tender  image,  gives  us,  at  the  same  time,  a  much 
stronger  impression  of  the  nature  and  strain  of  that  music  :  '•  Like 
the  memory  of  joys  that  are  past,  pleasant  and  mournful  to  the  soul." 
Example  2.  Homer  introduces  a  most  charming  night-scene,  while 
l)is  main  object  is  only  to  illustrate  the  slate  of  the  Grecian  camp  after 
u  battle. 

"  The  troops,  exciting,  sat  in  order  rountl, 
And  beaming  fires  illamin'd  all  the  g^round. 
As  when  the  moon,  resplendent  orb  of  night, 
O'er  heaven's  pure  azure  shed  her  sacrcd  liglit , 
"When  not  a  cloud  oVreasts  the  solemn  scene, 
And  not  a  breath  disturbs  the  deep  serene  ; 
Around  her  tlirune  the  vivid  plaiiets  roll. 
And  stars  unaumber'd  gild  the  glowing  pole; 
O'er  the  dark  trees  a  yellow  veixiure  spread, 
And  tipt  with  silver  ev'ry  mountains  head. 
Then  shine  the  vales,  the  rocks  in  prospect  rise, 
A  flood  of  glory  bursts  from  all  the  skies. 
The  conscious  swains,  rejoicing  in  the  night. 
Eye  the  blue  vault,  and  bless  the  useful  light. 
So  many  flames  before  proud  Ilion  blaze, 
And  lighten  glimmering  Xanthus  with  their  rays  I" 

Jlnalysis,  This  simile  needs  no  comment  to  display  its  beauties.     Not 
©nly  is  the  primary  object,  the  Grecian  fires,  elucidated  by  the  splendid 
resemblance  of  the  glowing  stars,  but  the  imagination  is  farther  capti 
vated  by  a  delightful  collection  of  connected  objects,   which  together 
concur  to  form  an  extensive  and  interesting  picture. 

Scholium.  Such  comparisons  not  only  supply  the  most  striking  illus- 
trations of  the  objects  they  a»x  brought  to  illuminate,  but  embellish 
also  the  general  prospect  by  occasional  openings  into  beautiful  adja- 
cent fields.  They  operate  like  episodes  in  a  long  work,  which  relax  and 
regale  the  mind,  without  distracting  it  from  its  capital  pursuit.  They 
produce  an  effect  similar  to  what  happens  to  the  traveller,  from  sur- 
veying in  his  course  unexpected  and  surprising-  scenes  of  nature  or  of 
art.  He  turns  aside  a  moment  to  contemplate  them,  and  then  resumes 
his  journey  with  redoubled  ardour  and  delight. 

278.  The  third  sort  of  coinparisons  are  emplojed  to  ele- 
vate or  depress  the  prindpcd  object. 

Example  \.  The  following  example  must  aggrandise  our  conceptionti 
Aif  the  valour  of  Hector,  howsoever  great  we  can  suppose  it  to  havfi 
bseu  in  reality. 

"  Girt  in  surrounding  flames,  he  seems  to  fall 
Like  Are  from  Jove,  and  bursts  upon  them  all ; 
Bursts  as  a  wave,  that  from  the  clouds  impends. 
And  sweird  with  temptst  o'er  the  ship  descends. 
White  are  the  decks  with  foam ;  the  winds  aloud 
Howl  oVr  the  masts,  and  ring  through  every  shroud* 
Pale,  trembling,  tired,  the  sailors  freeze  with  fears, 
And  instant  death  in  every  wave  appeal's. 
So  pale  the  Greeks  the  eyes  of  Hector  meet, 
The  chief  so  thundei's,  and  so  shakes  the  fleet." 

Example  2.  I'he  following  quotation  will  explain  the  manner  in 
which  comparisons  operate  to  depress  the  primary  object,     Milton  bias 

14* 


I5i6  Comparison, 

employed  a  most  expressive  and  successful  figure  to  vilify  the  couragc- 
and  resistance  of  the  fallen  ang-els  : 

"  Gabnel as  a  lienl 

Of  gt)at8,  or  tim'rous  flock,  toother  thronged, 
Drove  th*^m  btfore  him,  thunder-struck,  punued 
"With  ferroi*s  a)id  wiilj  furies,  to  the  buuuds 
And  crystal  wall  of  heaven." 

Example  3.  Shakespeare  could  not  have  devised  a  more  cflTectual 
-  if;thod  of  exposinc:  the  character  of  a  fop,  than  by  contrasting  him 
with  his  niosi  valourous  hero,  Hotspur.  The  passage  supplies  a  per- 
linent  illustration  of  the  nature  of  contrasts,  and  of  thi:ir  powers  to 
diminish  or  depress.  Hotspur  thus  addresses  the  king  about  the  pris- 
oners whom  he  had  taken,,  aud  whom  he  bad  been  accused  of  refusing* 
to  surrender  : 

"  -'  My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners,    • 

But  I  runeinlicr,  when  the  tight  m  as  done, 
When  I  was  dry  A^ilh  rage  and  extreme  toil, 
BreaibKsi  and  faint,  haning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  loitl,  neat,  trimly  dress'd, 
Fresh  as  a  hiitN-.-room  :  ni.d  hi«  citiii  m>w  rea])'d, 
Shav'd  '  ;\ est  home. 

He  v.;  i; 

And  -IN  ;         -         /  i«'b  he  hi  Id 

A  pounc(.t-bci.\,  which  i\i  i 
He  gave  his  nose.  And  «.i: 
--\n(!  as  tht  sohli.iv  1k,p  T 
;  'mjiiuuiierJj, 

corse 

\\ {\\\  Mi.'Uij   holiday  and  l;.(i_\  u  iins 
He  question 'd  me.'  Among'tbe  rest  demamled 
My  prisoners  in  your  iiriji-sty's  Ix-haif: 
l.'all  s  '     l)eing  gaird 

Jo  b<  ..y. 

Out  ot  ,   uci\ 

Answ<  Mj()\>  not  what ; 

He  s!i  nt  ;  for  it  mad^  me  mait, 

'I'o  .s( '  ir.  and  snu  li  so  sweet, 

And  t  -  •  •! -woman, 

Of  pi..  \. 

Afid  t  tiling  on  earth 

^^"-  '  ;_, .;....4...  Lit  uiH;  ; 

V. as  a  piiy,  so  it  was, 
iilainous  salt-petre  should  be  digg'd 
v..  _i  111.  bowels  of  the  barinless  earth, 
\Vluch  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroyed 
So  cowardly  ;  and  but  for  these  vile  guns, 
He  would  himself  have  iieeu  a  soldier." 

Oiis.  Having  explained  the  nature  of  comparisons,  and  illustratptl 
'he  purposes  which  they  are  calculated  to  serve,  to  guard  the  student 
.tgainst  errors,  we  sliall  enumerate  the  capital  mistakes  committed  in 
the  use  of  these  figures  ;  and  then  conclude  the  chapter  by  some  re- 
marks on  the  propriety  %i  the  occasions  in  which  th«y  may  be  intro- 
duced. 

279.  Compxtrisons  should  not  he  instituted  between  objects, 
the  resemblance  of  which  is  either  obscure,  faint,  or  remote. 

Example.  The  following  simile  was  intended  by  Milton  to  illustrate 
the  anxiety  with  which  Satan  traversed  the  creation,  in  order  to  find 
out  subjects  for  destruction  and  revenge. 

'•As  when  a  vulture  on  Imaus  bred, 
"VVhojc  suowy  ridge  the  roving  Tartar  boucdi, 


Comparison,  3  57 


Dislodging  from  a  re^on  scarce  of  prey, 

'X  o  gorge  the  flesh  of  Jambs  or  yearling  kids. 

On  hills  where  flocks  are  fed,  flies  to  tlie  springs 

Of  Ganges  or  Hydaspcs  Indian  streams, 

But  in  his  way  lights  on  the  barren  plains 

Of  Sericana,  wheie  Chineses  drive 

With  sails  and  wind  their  cany  -waggons  light; 

So  on  this  windy  sea  of  land,  the  fiend 

Walk'd  up  and  down  alone,  bent  on  his  i>rey.^ 

Analysis.  The  objects  contained  in  this  comparison  are  so  little 
known,  even  to  those  who  claim  the  character  of  being  learned,  and 
Ihey  are  so  totally  unkno^yn  to  tiie  greater  part  of  readers,  that  it  has 
the  appearance  of  a  riddle,  or  a  pompous  parade  of  erudition,  rather 
than  of  a  figure  to  illustrate  something  less  conspicuous  and  striking 
than  itself.  Many  of  the  similes,  also,  which  were  frequent  arid  beau- 
tiful among  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  as  those  drawn  from  the  lion,  the 
tiger,  the  wolf,  the  sphinx,  the  griffin,  animals  with  the  characters  and 
properties  of  which  they  were  supposed  to  be  well  acquainted,  arc  re- 
tained by  modern  poets  with  much  impropriety.  To  the  learned  they 
ure  destitute  of  novelty,  an  essential  ingredient  in  every  good  compari- 
son ;  to  the  unlearned,  they  are  involved  in  much  greater  obscurity 
fhan  the  subjects  they  are  brought  to  illuminate. 

280.  Comparisons  should  7wt  be  deduced  from  objects 
which  rise  much  above,  or  fall  'much  below  the  primary  ob- 
ject ;  nor  should  thej  suggest  feelings  discordant  with  the 

tone  of  the  emotion  which  the  object  prompts.  If  a  com- 
parison soar  too  high,  it  throws  ridicule,  instead  of  embel- 
lishment, on  the  object  it  is  intended  to  adorn  ;  tlie  latter 
suftering  from  contrast,  instead  of  being  elevated  by  simili- 
tude. 

Example  1.  The  subsequent  comparison  is  reprehensible  in  this 
view.  Homer  paints  the  noise  of  opening  the  great  lock  of  the  repos- 
itories of  Ulysses,  by  a  comparison  that  borders  on  burlesque  ; 

"  Loud  as  a  bull  makes  hill  and  valley  ring. 
So  roai-'d  the  lock  when  it  released  the  spring.'^ 

281.  If,  again,  a  comparison  be  destitute  of  dignity,  some 
portion  of  its  insignificance  is  transferred  to  the  principal 
object. 

Example.  Milton  describes  the  surprise  of  the  fallen  angels  by  a 
similitude  which  savours  of  levity. 

"  They  hear'd.  and  were  abashed^  and  up  they  sprung 
Ul>on  the  wing ;  as  when  men  wont  to  m  atch 
On  duty,  slecpir.g  found  by  whom  they  dread. 
Rouse  and  bestir  themselves  ere  well  awake." 

Ajialysis.  Milton  did  not  intend  to  ridicule  the  appearance  of  fallen 
angels  by  this  comparison  ;  if  he  had  so  intended,  he  would  have  de- 
served applause,  for  every  reader  feels  how  successful  he  would  have 
been. 

Example  2.  Homer  paints  the  equality  of  the  contest  between  the 
Greeks  and  Trojans,  in  a  well-fought  field;  by  the  equilibrium  of  a 
balance  destined  to  weigh  wool. 


15S  Coniparisou* 

''^  As  when  two  scales  are  charp^'d  with  doubtfui  ioac?, 
From  side  to  side  the  trembling  balance  nods, 
(While  some  laborious  matron,  just  and  poor. 
With  nice  exactness  weighs  her  woolly  store), 
Till  pois^.'d  aloft,  the  resting  beam  sns|H^iMis 
£ach  equal  weight ;  nor  this  nor  that  descends. 
So  stood  the  war  ;  till  Hector's  matchless  might. 
With  fates  prevailing,  turn'd  fhe  scale  of  flight 
Fierce  as  a  whirlwind  up  the  wall  he  flies. 
And  fires  his  host  with  loud  repeated  cries.** 

Scholium.  Similes  like  these  not  only  degiade  the  principal  object, 
but  they  hurt  it  in  another  point  of  view,  they  disgust  the  imaginatir-u 
by  a  reversal  of  that  order  of  ideas  which  is  the  most  pleasant.  h\ 
transitions  from  one  object  to  another,  the  most  agreeable  succcssioa 
is,  to  rise  from  the  less  to  the  greater.  The  mind  inclines  to  extend  its 
views,  and  to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  its  gratifications.  In  reversing  this 
order  of  succession,  it  holds  an  opposite  course.  It  is  obliged  to  re- 
trench its  views,  and  to  circumscribe  its  enjoyments  ;  an  operation 
manifestly  unpleasant. 

aS'^.  But  comparisons  are  still  more  censurable^  when 
they  ^vom^i  feelings  discordant  with  the  aim  of  the  princi- 
pal oSject,  or  when  they  suggest  sentiments  painful  or  disa- 
greeable, 

Exampte.  Addison,  speaking  of  the  later  Greeks'  poems,  in  the 
shape  of  eggs,  wings,  and  altars,  introduces  the  following  similitude  : 
''  '1  he  poetry  was  to  contract  or  dilate  itself  according  to  the  mould 
in  which  it  was  cast  ;  in  a  word,  the  verses  were  to  be  cramped  or 
extended  to  the  dimensions  of  the  frame  prepared  for  them,  and  to 
undergo  the  fale  of  those  persons  whom  the  tyrant  Procrustes  used  io 
lodge  in  his  iron  bed;  if  they  were  too  short,  he  stretched  them  on  the 
rack  ;  and  if  they  were  too  long^,  he  chopped  off  a  part  of  their  body, 
till  they  fitted  the  couch  he  had  prepared  for  them." 

Jinalysis.  The  compari.son  is  alunnlantly  perthtcnt,  but  the  tone  of 
it  is  totally  discordant  w  ith  that  of  the  subject  which  it  is  brought  to 
illustrate.  The  pleasantry  inspired  by  the  foolish  efforts  of  the  minor 
poets  is  extinguisht^d  by  the  horror  excited  at  the  conduct  of  Pro- 
crustes. 

283.  It  is  to  be  observetl,  in  the  last  place,  that  compar- 
isons should  7ieier  be  founded  on  resemblances  ivhich  are 
too  obvious  andfamiliary  nor  on  those  which  are  imaginary, 

lUus.  \.  To  compare  love  to  afire,  violent  passion  to  a  tempest, 
virtue  to  the  sun,  or  distress  to  a  flower  dropping  its  head,  are  all  sim- 
iles, either  so  obvious  or  so  trite,  as  long  ago  to  have  lost  all  power  o/ 
pleasing 

Illus.  2.  In  comparisons  founded  on  imaginary  resemblances,  the  lit- 
eral sense  of  the  comparison  bears  an  analogy  to  the  metaphorical 
sense  of  the  primary  object.  Thus,  cliastity  is  cold  metaphorically, 
and  an  icicle  is  cold  naturally  ;  and  for  this  whimsical  reason,  a  chaste 
woman  is  compared  to  an  icicle.  The  best  poets  have  either  iwdidged 
in  such  exceptionable  similes,  or  have  inadvertently  adopted  thenv 

Examples.  Thus  Shakespeare,  in  Coriolanus  : 

"  TJ»e  noble  sister  of  PopHcoIa, 

The  moon  of  Rent* ;  chaste  as  an  icicle 
TTiat's  curlttl  by  the  frost  from  purest  snow, 
And  hang^s  oq  Diana's  temple." 


&omparisaH.  159 

Example  2.  tiovd  Bolingbroke  supposes  a  similitude  between  the 
discovery  of  truth,  from  ooRiparing  the  accounts  of  different  historians, 
and  the  production  of  fire  by  the  collision  of  flint  and  steel  :  "  Where 
their  sincerity  as  to  fact  is  doubtful,  we  strike  out  truth  by  a  confronta' 
tion  of  different  accounts,  as  we  strike  out  sparks  of  fire  by  the  collis- 
ion of  flint  and  steel." 

Analysis.  To  illustrate  the  futility  of  such  comparisons,  let  us  change 
fhe  expression  o**  the  last  example,  and  the  shadow  of  resemblance 
will  vanish  :  **  Where  historians  differ  in  their  accounts  of  the  same 
transaction,  whether  prompted  by  insincerity,  or  any  other  reprehen- 
sible disposition,  we  discover  the  truth  by  comparing-  them,  and  ma- 
king them  correct  one  another,  and  we  generate  fire  by  the  collision  of 
flint  and  steel."  As  the  act  of  comparing  different  authors  can  scarce- 
ly be  called  collision,  so  different  authors  have  no  analogy  with  flint 
«nd  steel.  The  word  striJcCj  used  figuratively  in  the  first  member  of 
the  sentence,  and  literally  in  the  second  member,  seems  to  have 
prompted  the  author  to  employ  this  imaginary  comparison. 

£84.  Extended  similes  may  be  introduced  with  advan- 
tage on  various  occasions.  They  are  consistent  with  ab» 
•stract  disquisition,  and  with  perfect  coolness  and  composure 
of  mind.  Such  gentle  appeals  to  the  imagination,  even  in 
philosophical  composition,  always  relieve  and  amuse  the 
reader,  and  often  add  illustration  to  pleasure. 

285.  There  remains  another  species  of  composition,  in 
'U'hich  long  and  circumstantial  comparisons  frequently  ap- 
pear ;  it  is  that  placid  and  feeble  composition  which  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  instruct,  for  it  contains  little  research  or 
argument,  but  which  has  for  its  capital  aim,  to  amuse  the 
imagination  by  a  number  of  pretty  or  familiar  resemblances. 

Obs.  Though  similes  are  often  the  work  of  the  boldest  and  most  fer-^ 
vid  fancy,  yet  none  of  the  ornaments  of  language  are  perhaps  mere 
allied  to  deficiency  of  genius  and  taste,  both  in  the  writer  and  the 
teader. 

286.  Long  comparisons  can  scarcely  be  admitted  with 
propriety  into  other  productions  than  those  we  have  enume- 
rated. History,  in  the  hands  of  all  writers  of  genius,  has 
rejected  them  with  disdain,  though  it  admits  short  simili- 
tudes restricted  to  the  mere  province  of  illustration. 

Example.  Hume  thus  characterises  Shakespeare  :  "  There  may  re- 
main a  suspicion  that  we  over-rate  the  greatness  of  his  geni'is,  in  the 
same  manner  as  bodies  appear  more  gigantic,  by  their  being  dispro^ 
portioned  or  mis-shapen." 

Obs.  If  any  one  chooses  to  learn  from  experience  the  repugnance 
between  the  spirit  of  history  and  circumstantial  comparisons,  be  may 
have  recourse  to  Strada,  author  of  the  History  of  the  Belgic  War. 
He  will  there  find,  that  the  too  frequent  use  of  this  ornament  diminishes 
the  dignity  and  the  credibility  of  the  performance,  and  communica.  , 
Cp  a  rdatioB  of  truth  much  of  the  levity  and  frivolity  of  a  romance. 


160  (Comparison* 

287.  Oratory,  for  a  similar  reason,  repudiates  lengthened 
similes,  though  it  admits  short  ones,  and  abounds  with  other 
figures  ;  particularly  interrogation,  metaphor,  and  personi- 
fication. 

Illus.  Ill  the  more  animated  orations  of  Cicero,  there  is  scarcely  to 
be  found  a  single  comparison  of  any  extent.  Demosthenes,  still  more 
ardent,  more  rarely  indulgei  in  the  use  of  them.  The  minds  of  these 
illustrious  orators  were  too  deeply  engaged  with  their  matter,  to  be  at- 
tentive to  beauties  calculated  only  to  please.  They  aimed  at  the  in- 
struction aud  conviction  of  their  hearers,  not  to  captivate  their  imagin- 
ations. They  would  have  been  ashamed  to  appear  to  have  spent  their 
time  in  ransacking  nature  for  resemblances,  however  pertinent  and 
brilliant,  if  not  absolutely  necessary.  The  ardour  and  penetration  of 
their  minds  would  not  have  been,  perhaps,  very  favourable  to  their 
success,  had  they  condescended  to  hunt  for  such  puerile  and  declama- 
tory ornaments. 

288.  But  of  all  improper  occasions  on  which  circumstan- 
tial similes  can  make  their  appearance,  the  most  improper, 
are  the  tender  scenes  of  tragedy  ;  and  yet  such  inconsisten- 
ces present  themselves  in  some  dramatic  productions  of  no 
small  reputation. 

Illu3.  Addison  was  endued  with  much  sensibility  in  respect  of  sub- 
Urac  sentiments  and  the  i)cculiarities  of  manners  ;  but  he  seems  to  have 
been  incapable  of  conceiving  any  high  degree  of  passion.  His  char- 
aclers,  accordingly,  in  the  tragedy  of  Cato,  display  many  of  those 
splendid  and  dignified  conceptions  which  he  had  imbibed  in  perusing 
tlie  orator)»  and  poets  of  ancient  Rome,  but  all  savour  of  the  Stoicism 
of  Cato  ;  and  when  they  attempt  to  utter  the  language  of  passion,  they 
deviate  into  declamation,  or  adupt  the  fri-id  expression  of  tame  spec- 
tators. The  scene  between  Lucia  and  Fortius,  in  the  third  act,  wiU 
afford  ample  proof  of  the  justness  of  these  remarks. 

Example  i.  When  Fortius,  from  preceding  behaviour  and  acknowl- 
edgment on  the  part  of  Lucia,  had  every  reason  to  believe  he  was  fa- 
Aoured  with  her  lore,  and  was  anticipating  the  satisfaction  of  such  a 
connection,  in  the  most  unexpected  change  of  disposition,  she  informs 
him  that  she  had  made  a  vow  never  to  marry  him.  Never  was  a  man 
thrown  more  suddenly  from  the  pinnacle  of  felicity,  into  the  abyss  of 
despair.  How  does  he  express  himself  in  such  a  critical  situation  .'' 
He  introduces  a  com])arison  in  the  languag*?  of  a  spectator,  descrip- 
tive of  the  attitude  in  which  his  agitation  had  placed  him,  without  ul- 
fering  a  single  sentiment  of  passion  : 

"  Fixt  in  astonish meut,  I  gaze  upon  thee, 
I^iko  ont'  just  blasted  by  a  stroke  from  heaven, 
>Vhc  pants  foi  bieath,  and  «u.fp'n«.  yt-t  aiire 
In  ilrcadful  looks,— a  monuniimi  ( ■  Vot." 

Example  2.  Lucia  replies  in  the  same  language  of  description 

"  OL  !   'top  tbose  sounu*. 
Those  killing  sounds  ,        y  do«t  ^hou  fi-own  upon  Jttff  J 
My  bi  jod  Tvv.s  cok',  my  !.•  '„*    mv  -'ti  to  heave, 
And  life  itjtif  goes  out  at  thy  di>pieajnre.** 


6omparison.  161 

Atialyns.  One  would  imagine,  that  the  author  of  the  Rehearsal  had 
in  view  such  unnatural  composition.  But  we  cannot  help  being  sur- 
prised that  Addison  did  not  profit  by  his  remarks.  "  Now  here  she 
must  make  a  simile,"  says  Mr.  Bays.  "  Where's  the  necessity  of 
that.'"'  replies  Mr.  Smith.  "  Because  she's  surprised  ;  that's  a  gene- 
ral rule  ;  you  must  ever  make  a  simile  when  you  are  Surprised  ;  'tis 
the  new  way  of  writing." 

289.  But  althougfi  such  deliberate  and  highly-finished 
comparisons  are  inconsistent  with  every  violent  exertion  of 
passion,  y^i  short  similes ,  adapted  entirely  to  the  purpose 
of  illustration,  may  appear  in  the  mo^i  passionate  scenes, 

Illus.  There  is  sc.ircely  a  tragedy  in  any  language,  in  which  passion 
assumes  so  high  a  tone,  and  is  so  well  supported,  as  in  the  Moor  of 
Venice  ;  and  yet,  in  one  of  the  most  passionate  scenes  of  that  passion- 
ate tragedy,  no  reader  can  hesitate  about  the  propriety  of  introducing 
two  similes,  besides  several  bold  metaphors. 

Example.  Othello  thus  deliberates,  in  the  deepest  agitation,  about 
the  murder  of  his  wife,  on  account  of  her  supposed  infidelity  ; 

"  It  is  the  cause,  my  soul. 
Let  rae  not  name  it  to  you  ye  chaste  stars  ! 
It  is  the  cause  ;— yet  I'll  not  shed  her  blood. 
Nor  scar  that  whiter  skin  of  her's  than  snow, 
And  smooth  as  monumental  alabasler  ; 
Yet  she  must  die,  else  she'll  betray  more  men. 
Put  out  the  light,  ajid  then  piit  out  thy  light. 
If  I  quench  thee,  thou  flaming  minister, 
I  can  ag:ain  thy  flaming  light  restore, 
Should  I  i-epent ;  but  once  put  out  thy  light. 
Thou  cunningest  pattern  of  excelling  nature^ 
I  know  not  where  is  the  Promethean  heat 
That  can  thy  light  relumine. 
When  I  have  phick'd  thy  rose, 
I  cannot  give  it  vital  growth  again, 
It  needs  must  wither.'' 

Analysis.  The  comparisons  of  the  skin  of  Desdemona  to  snow  iir 
point  of  whiteness,  and  to  alabaster  in  point  of  smoothness,  are  admi- 
rably  adapted  to  improve  our  ideas  of  her  beauty,  and  consequently 
to  heightea  the  tide  of  the  Moor's  distress,  in  being  obliged  to  put  to 
death,  from  principles  of  honour,  a  woman  he  had  so  much  reason  to 
admire.  The  meditation  on  the  resemblance  between  her  life  and  the 
light  of  a  taper  is  striking  and  melancholy  ;  and  the  comparison  be- 
tween her  death  and  the  plucking  of  a  rose  is  perfectly  concordant 
with  the  same  sentiments. 

Carol.  Short  similes,  which  aid  the  impression  by  rendering  our 
conceptions  more  vivid  and  significant,  are  therefore  consistent  with 
tl\e  highest  swell  of  passion. 


i  6£  Fersonification , 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PERSONIFICATION. 

C>90.  PERSONIFICATION,  or  Prosopopeia,  is  a  figure 
which  consists  in  ascribing  life  and  action  to  inanimate  ob- 
jects. It  has  its  origin  in  the  influence  that  imagination 
and  passion  liave  upon  our  perceptions  and  opinions. 

Ilhij.  If  our  perceptions  and  opinions  were  dictated  and  regulated 
entirely  by  the  understanding,  nothing  could  appear  more  whimsical 
and  absurd  than  to  confound  so  far  one  of  the  capital  distinctions  in 
nature,  as  to  interchange  the  properties  of  animated  and  inanimated 
substances,  and  to  ascribe  sentiment  and  action,  not  only  to  vegeta- 
bles, but  to  earth,  fire,  water,  and  every  other  existence  most  remote 
from  activity  and  sensibility.  Strange,  however,  as  this  practice  may 
appear  to  reason,  such  is  the  ascendancy  of  imagination  and  passion, 
that  nothing  is  more  frequent  and  meritorious  with  seveial  sorts  of 
writers,  particularly  orators  and  poets. 

Example  1.  Antony,  in  Shakespeare,  thujt  addresses  the  dead  body 
vf  Caesar  : 

•'  O  pardon  roe  thou  bleeding  pie«e  of  earth  !'• 

2.  ''  The  sword  of  Gaul,"  says  Ossian,  "  trcmbtts  at  his  side,  and 
longs  to  glitter  in  his  hand." 

3.  •*  Ye  tvoods  and  wilds  !  whoie  melancholy  g^loom 
Accords  with  my  soul'i  tadneit.  aiid  draw*  forth 
The  voice  of  sorrow  from  my  bursting  heart."     Lady  Rtn^dolpfu 

391.  Not  only  the  inanimate  parts  of  nature  are  personi- 
fied, but  the  qualities  and  members  of  the  body  ;  even  ah- 
stract  ideas  have  sometimes  conferred  upon  them  the  same 
important  prerogative. 

JUhs.  Thus,  hope  and /ear,  /ore  and  katredj  the  head,  the  hand«,  the 
fttly  prosperity  and  adversity^  are  often  addressed  as  independent  living 
agents. 

Scholium.  Human  nature  is  a  very  compounded  constitution,  of 
which  the  several  parts  strongly  influence  one  another.  All  mankind 
have  remarked  the  singular  power  which  affection  and  passion  assume 
over  our  actions  and  our  opinions.  When  we  wish  to  believe  any  re^ 
lation,  or  to  perform  any  action,  we  seldom  want  reasons  to  persuade 
us  that  our  opinions  are  well  founded,  and  that  our  conduct  is  right. 
Affection,  or  interest,  guide  our  notions  and  behaviour  in  the  affairs  of 
life  ;  imagination  and  passion  affect  the  sentiments  that  we  entertain 
in  matters  of  taste. 

292.  These  faculties  suggest  a  division  of  pei'sonificatioa 
into  two  kinds  ;  the  first  called  descriptive,  which  is  ad- 
dressed chiefly  to  the  imagination  :  the  second,  passionate^ 
thfe  object  of  which  is  to  afford  gratification  to  the  passions 


Fetsonificaiion.  1S5 

lilns.  1.  The  conception  that  we  entertain  of  the  former  of  thes^ 
kinds,  amounts  not  td  conviction  that  Hie  and  intelligence  are  really 
•communicated  to  the  personified  object  ;  but  the  conception  we  form 
■of  the  latter  seems  to  amount  to  conviction,  at  least  for  a  short  time. 

2.  When  Thomson  pevsonifies  the  seasons,  when  Milton  calls  Shake- 
speare/a7?c^'5  child,  when  the  ocean  is  said  to  smile  and  the  torrent  to 
roar,  the  most  delicate  imagination  is  not  so  far  misled  as  to  conclude 
that  tlicre  is  any  thing  real  in  these  suppositions.  They  are  figures 
conjured  up  entirely  to  gratify  the  imagination;  and  for  that  reason, 
examples  of  this  sort  are  denominated  descriptive  personifications  ;  be- 
cause they  are  concordant  with  the  tone  of  vivacity  suggested  by  de- 
scription.    (Illus.  Art.  35.) 

3.  But,  in  two  of  the  instances  rdready  quoted,  where  the  persons 
wlio  personify  are  agitated  by  real  passion,  when  Antony  addresses 
the  dead  body  of  Caesar  ;  and  Lady  Randolph  converses  with  i\\e  woods 
and  wilds;  the  mind  is  affected  in  a  much  more  sensible  manner,  and 
conceives  for  a  naoment  that  the  deception  is  comj^Icte.  As  soon  as 
passion  subsides,  and  reflection  recovers  ascendancy,  the  delusion 
tlisappears,  and  the  fiction  is  detected.  But  as  this  momentary  grati- 
fication is  highly  agreeable,  and  even  the  reflection  upon  it  is  attended 
with  pleasure,  it  is  proi)er  it  should  be  distinguished  from  the  former 
species  of  personification  ;  and  for  this  reason  it  has  been  called  pas- 
sionate. 

293.  A^  descriptive  personijication  is  derived  from  the 
disposition  of  the  imagination  to  indulge  in  such  views  of 
I4ature  and  art,  as  tend  most  to  gratify  itself;  so  life  and 
motion  are  capital  sources  of  pleasure,  in  the  contemplation 
t>f  the  objects  with  which  we  are  surrounded. 

lilus.  1.  We  feel  a  superior  satisfaction  in  surveying  the  life  of  anl- 
anals,  than  that  of  vegetables  ;  and  we  receive  more  gratification  in 
contemplating  the  life  of  vegetables,  than  those  parts  of  nature  which 
are  commonly  deemed  inanimate.  We  receive  even  higher  pleasure 
in  beholding  those  animals  of  the  same  species,  which  are  endowed 
with  greater  degrees  of  life  and  motion. 

2.  In  a  word,  in  all  views  of  nature  at  rest,  as  in  landscapes  ;  and  ia 
all  views  of  nature,  in  motion;  the  more  numerous  the  objects  are 
either  possessed  of  life,  though  not  in  motion,  or  possessd  of  life,  and 
actually  in  motion,  the  greater,  in  proportion,  is  the  power  of  the  view 
to  charm  the  imagination,  and  to  r^ptivate  the  spectator.  It  is  this 
tendency  of  the  imagination,  to  delight  itself,  not  only  with  the  con 
teraplation  of  life,  but  of  the  best  species  of  life,  that  of  intelligence, 
^which  induces  it  to  extend  this  property  as  widely  as  possible,  because, 
by  doing  so,  it  extends  the  sphere  of  its  own  enjoyment.  It  is  not 
content,  accordingly,  with  the  contemplation  of  all  the  real  life  and 
action  which  fall  under  its  observation  ;  it  makes  vigorous  exertions 
to  communicate  these  valuable  qualities  to  many  other  objects  to 
which  Providence  has  denied  them;  to  vegetabteSj  to  ideas,  and  even 
to  matter  totally  inert. 

294.  The  influence  of  this  figure  is  so  general  and  pow- 
erful as  to  constitute  the  very  essence  of  compositions  ad- 
dressed to  the  imagination. 

15 


i  G4  Personification, 

Illus.  Stiii>  tije  Seasons  of  Thomson,  nnd  the  Gcorgics  of  Virgif,  <y< 
this  sprig:htly  oruament,  and  you  \\\\\  reduce  the  two  most  beautifut 
didactic  poems  the  world  ever  saw,  to  drr,  uninteresting^,  uninstructive 
details  of  natural  history.  You  cannot  open  either  of  these  perfor- 
mances witiiout  meetinor  examples  >  I  present  the  first  that  occm-red 
to  me. 

Example  1.  Thus  the  author  of  the  Seasons  : 

•*  Now  rivid  stars  shiiH-  out,  in  hri^^htenini?  file»> 
And  boundlt'js  itither  ^lows,  till  tht  fair  inodn 
Shows  her  broad  visat?*^  in  tht-  cruusond  Ka»t ;. 
Now  stooping  sceni*  to  kiss  the  passint^  cloud, 
Now  o'er  the  pure  cerulean  rides  sublime. 
Kature,  great  parent!  whose  directing  hand 
Rolls  rouml  the  seasons  of  the  changing  ye-4r, 
How  might) ,  how  majistic.  are  thy  work's  ! 
With  wiiat  a  pKasani  dnad  they  swell  the  soul, 
niat  sees  astoniih'd,  and  astonish*d  sings  I 
You  too,  ye  Minds,  that  now  begin  to  blow 
With  l)oi»t*rous  »wtep,  1  raise  my  voice  to  yoo. 
Where  are  your  siores,  you  viewless  bt  hij;''^,  «iy  ' 
Where  your  aerial  magazines  n's<avfd 
Against  the  day  of  tempest  perilous  ?'* 

2.  The  elei;ant  Virgiiian  muse  thus  sln^s  : 

*  Interea  Dr}adnm  sylvas.  saUus^jMr  tefinamiir 
Intactos.  tua  ^T 'i' '  .-  V  in''  '■--.  :i. 

Te  sine  nil  ah  segnes 

Kunipe  moras  ,         .  itheron 

Taygctique  canes,  uouianxqut    Ki>i(iaii\u->  equorum, 
£t  vox  assensu  neraorom  ingemioata  rcn>ugit/' 

Anahisis.  Every  reader  will  perceive  how  much  these  jiassag'es  vtc 
enlivened  by  the  personifications  with  which  they  nboiuKl.  Every' 
thing  appears  to  live  and  act,  and  the  imagination  is  charmed  with  a 
succession  of  vivid  pictures. 

Obs.  Essays  of  all  kinds  admit  (he  use  of  this  figure,  and  even  histo- 
ry on  some  occasions.  It  is  frequently  found  in  oratory,  particularly 
that  of  the  ancients  ;  and  it  is  son^tinies  discovered  in  moral  discours- 
es among  the  moderns. 

5295.  Passionate  personification  regults  from  the  moment- 
ary conviction  which  the  violence  of  passion  is  rjualified  to 
inspire, — that  the  inanimate  ohjects  which  engage  its  atten- 
tion are  emloived  with  scnnbility  antl  intelligence, 

JHus.  The  passions  assume  the  most  decisive  influence  over  our 
opinions  and  actions,  and,  on  some  occasions,  totally  discompose  and 
perplex  the  mind.  They  puli  down  reason  ar>d  conscience  from  theiv 
tlu'one,  and  usurp  such  an  absolute  dominion  in  the  human  frame,  that 
the  waves  of  the  sea  in  a  storm  are  not  more  completely  subject  to 
the  turbulence  of  the  winds. 

2.  If  the  passions  are  capable  of  producing  these  prodigious  effects, 
we  will  not  hesitate  to  allow  theia  that  sway  which  is  requisite  to  ac- 
count for  passionate  personification.  But  in  whatever  manner  wc 
.^hall  account  for  the  phenomenon,  we  cannot  doubt  of  its  reality; 
and  that  all  passions,  when  excited  to  extremity,  possess  this  power,  is 
evident  from  the  hii^h  relish  which  we  entertain  for  such  examples, 
wlien  properly  exhibited. 

Examyle  1.  Fear  prompts  this  figure;  Milton,  speaking  of  the  f.c^- 
in/;  of  the  forbidden  fruit,  thus  sings  : 


Fersonification,  1 65 

*'  Jh^iii  th  trembled  from  her  entrails,  as  ag;ain 
In  pangs,  and  nature  gave  a  second  gvoan : 
Sky  lower'd,  and,  muttering  thunder,  some  sad  drops 
Wept,  at  completing  of  the  mortal  sin." 

Example  2.   Grief  in  solitude  naturally  assumes  a  similar  phiascolo- 
v.     Thus  Alineria,  in  <he  Mourning  Bride  : 

<'  O  Earth '  behold  I  kneel  upon  thy  bosoiii. 
Open  thy  bowels  of  compassion,  take 
Into  thy  womb  the  last  and  most  forlorn 
Of  all  thy  race.    Hear  me,  thou  common  parent, 
1  have  no  parent  else.    Re  thou  a  mother. 
And  step  between  me  and  the  curse  of  liim 
Who  nas,  who  was,  but  is  no  more  a  father." 

3.  ,Sit a chment  utters  itself  in  a  similar  manner.  Shakespeare  make,> 
ilichard  If.  vent  his  feeling's  to  the  following-  purpose,  after  landing  in 
England  from  his  expedition  in  Ireland  : 

"  I  weep  for  joy 
^o  stand  upon  ray  kingdom  once  again  ; ' 
Dear  earth  ;  I  do  salute  thee  with  niy  hand. 
Though  rebels  wound  thee  with  their  horses'  hoofs  j 
As  a  long  parted  mother  with  her  child 
Plays  fojxlly,  with  her  tears,  and  smil.  s  in  meeting  j 
So  weeping,  smiling,  greet  I  thee  my  earth." 

4.  Haired  takes  hold  of  the  same  species  of  expression,  Satan  thus 
-.  idre«ses  the  sun,  in  Paradise  Lost : 

"  O  thou  !  that,  with  surpassing  glory  cl"o^vn'rf, 
Look'st  from  thy  sole  dominion,  like  the  god 
Of  this  new  woiid,  at  whose  sight  all  the  stars 
Hide  their  diminished  heads  ;  to  thee  I  call, 
But  Mith  no  friendly  voice,  and  add  thy  name, 

0  Sun  !  to  teil  thee  how  I  hate  thy  beams, 
That  bring  to  ray  remembraiice  from  what  state 

1  fell.    How  glorious  once  above  thy  sphere  !" 

5.  Jey  also  delights  in  personification.  Adam's  exultation  at  his 
.rst  interview  with  Eve  is  beautifully  painted  by  Milton.     All  nature 

alive  to  share  their  happiness. 

»*  -    -    -    -    To  the  nuptial  bower 

I  led  her,  blushing  like  the  morn ;  all  heaven, 
And  happy  constellations,  on  that  hour 
Shed  their  selectest  influeiice  ;  the  earth 
Gave  signs  of  gratulation,  and  each  hill  ; 
Jojous  the  birth,  fresh  gales,  and  gentle  airs 
Whisper 'd  it  to  the  wtMjds,  and  from  their  wings 
Flung  rose,  flung  odours  from  the  spicy  shrub 
J)isporti>ig  !  Till  rhe  amorous  bird  of  night, 
Sung  spousal,  and  bid  haste  the  evening  star 
On  his  hill-top,  to  light  the  bridal  lamp." 

<T..  The  impatience  of  Adam  to  know  his  origin,  is  supposed  to 
fn-ompt  the  personification  of  all  the  objects  he  beheld,  in  order  to 
procure  information. 

"-    -    -    Thou  Sun,  said  I,  'air  light  i 
And  thou  enlightened  Earth,  so  fi-esh  and  gay  ! 
Ye  hills  and  dales,  ye  rivers,  v  oods  and  plains, 
And  ye  that  Ii\e,  aiid  move,  fair  cnature*  tell, 
Tell,  if  you  saw,  how  came  I  thus,  how  here  i^ 

Scholium.  These  examples  evince,  that  a  gruil  part  of  the  most  ex- 
pressiie  language  of  passion  is  persoiiijication,  and  that  it  is  peculiarly 
aifapted  to  the  more  interesting  scenes  of  life,  where  the  passions  are 


i6G  Personijicailoit, 

xvound  up  to  the  highest  pitch.  We  should  indeed  naturahv  expect 
this  consequence  from  the  violent  disorder  of  the  mind  in  which  it  cai* 
5e  relished  ;  for,  without  ascending  to  that  derangement  wluch  infers 
lunacy  and  distraction,  reason  can  scarcely  offer  a  greater  sacrifice  to 
passion,  than  to  admit  the  order  of  nature  to  he  reversed,  and  inani- 
>nate  exi>tcnce  to  be  endowed  with  life  and  intclligencr. 

Example  7.  All  tlie  best  tragedUsy  all  the  most  passionate  scenes  in 
.o  most  finished  epic  poeiiu,  bear  ample  teftimony  to  its  truth.  Wc 
f^hall  exhibit  only  another  quotation  from  the  most  perfect  play  of  the 
most  comph'te  painter  of  the  language  of  passion.  King  Lear,  in  the 
height  of  his  distress  personifies,  and  rails  agaui*>t  the  ehrments,  whicli 
^e  considers  as  combined  with  his  daughters  to  procure  his  dcstructioiJ 

■■•  I  tax  not  yoTi,  ye  eletncnts,  with  iinUimTiuss, 
I  never  g;ave  you  kiniitloms,  call'd  you  children  ; 
You  owe  me  no  siibseription  ;  thtii  1ft  fall 
Your  hoirible  dispUasurt.     Hen  I  stand  your  bi-avc  -, 
A  poor,  infirm,  weak,  and  despis'd  old  man  .' 
But  yet  I  call  vou  s»  rvile  ministers. 
That  have,  with  two  (xriiicious  daughters,  ioincU 
Your  high  en;;riKiertd  battles  'gainst  a  hea^ 
So  old  and  white  as  this  " 

296.  In  treating  of  gemler,  (t^rt.  56.  Jlfus.  3.  and  4.)  we 
ook  notice,  that  the  Knglish  language  possessed  a  singular 

advantage  in  marking  personifications,  by  employing  the 
-pronouns  significant  of  &ex.  In  all  other  cases,  inanimate 
>jects  must  be  denominated  by  the  neuter  pronoun  ;  and, 
.11  other  languages,  no  distinction  of  gender  can  take  place 
in  personifications,  because  the  genders  of  their  nouns  arc 
invariable.  But  a  writer  in  English  is  left  at  liberty  to 
adopt  either  the  rnale  i^v  female  sex  ;  and  it  is  of  some  con- 
sequence to  attend  to  this  circumstance,  because  improprie- 
ties are  not  uncommon. 

Example.    Milton  has  chosen  unsuitable  genders  for  the  following 
isonifications.     Of  Satan,  he  sings, 

" His  form 

Had  not  lost  all  titr  original  brigbtness. 
Nor  appear 'd  less  than  archangel  ruin'U." 

/bialysis.  If  the  personifjcation  of  the  form  of  Satan  was  fcdraissiblc. 
*;l)ould  certainly  have   been   masculine.     A  female  form,    conjoined 
)  the  persotj  of  a  male,  seems  to  approach  the  ridiculous.     (See  Jinal. 
ilx.  Jilt.  297.) 

297.  A  capital  error  in  personification,  is  to  deck  the 
figure  with  fimiastlc  and  trifiing  circumstances.  A  practice 
of  this  sort  dissolves  the  potent  charm  which  enchants  and 
deceives  the  reader,  and  either  leaves  him  dissatisfied,  or 
excites,  perhaps,  his  risibility. 

Example.  Shakespeare  will  furnish  an  example  of  this  sort. 

*•  She  shall  be  dijmifVd  "wiih  this  high  honour, 
To  War  iU)  lad)  's  train  ;  lest  the  base  earth 
Should  from  her  vesture  chftnce  to  sieal  a  kisi, 


Personification,  1 67 


Ami  of  so  great  a  favour  growing  proud, 
Disdain  to  root  the  summer  smelling  flower, 
And  make  rough  winter  everlastingly." 

Analysis.  Here  the  earth,  which  we  usually  call  "  our  mother,"  C^*^'- 
i,  Art.  295.)  is  degraded  by  being  termed  '•  base,"  (Ex.  3.  Art.  295.) 
On  the  supposition  that  the  earth  is  s.  person,  it  was  competent  to  the 
poet  to  give  her  lips  '•  to  steal  a  kiss."  But  then  to  fancy  the  earth 
i^rowing  proud"  of  this  ^'  favour,"  and  disdaining  '*  to  root  the  sum- 
mer smelling  flower,"  is  a  ridicule  of  all  figurative  communication  ; 
aince,  as  flowers  would  embellish  her  bosom,  she  prefers,  to  the  pomp 
of  dress,  the  pleasure  of  a  kiss.  But  we  may  surmise  that  the  poet 
personifies  the  earth  as  a  male,  since  it  is  rather  a  masculine  preroga- 
tive '•  to  steal  a  kiss."  Now,  ''  so  great  a  favour,"  in  place  of  cooling 
,  his  heart,  was  calculated  to  inflame  it  ;  therefore  to  imagine  that  the 
effect  would  be  "  to  make  rough  winter  everlastingly,"  marks  some- 
thing more  than  a  defective  taste  in  the  poet. 

298.  Another  error,  frequent  in  descviptly a  personifica- 
tions} consists  in  introducing  them  when  the  subject  of  dis- 
cussion is  destitute  ofdighiti/,  and  the  reader  is  not  prepar- 
ed to  relish  them. 

Example.  One  can  scarcely  peruse  the  following  quotations  with 
composure.  Thomson  thus  personiiies  and  connects  the  bodily  app^j- 
tiles,  and  their  gratifications. 

•'  1  hen  sated  Hunger  bids  his  brotlier  Thirst 
Produce  the  mighty  bowl  ; 
Nor  wanting  is  the  brown  October,  drawn 
Mature  and  perfect,  from  his  dark  retreat 
Of  thirty  years  ;  and  now  his  honest  front 
ilames  in  the  light  i-efulgent " 

['  Example  2.  Shakespeare,  sometimes  great  in   errors  as  in  beautie^i 

iVr  oaidoes  Thomson.     Speaking  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra: 

" The  city  cast 

Its  people  out  uj^on  her  ;  and  Antony, 
Inthron'd  in  the  market-place,  did  sit  alone, 
Whistling  to  the  air,  whidi  but  for  vacancy 
Ilad  gone  to  gaze  on  Cleopatra  too, 
And  made  a  gap  in  nature." 

:299.  So  also,  addressing  the  several  parts  of  one's  body, 
as  if  thej  were  animated,  is  not  congruous  to  the  dignity  of 
passion. 

Example.  For  this  reason,  we  must  condemn  the  following  passage^ 
in  Pope's  very  beautiful  poem  of  EU>ise^  to  Abelord  : 

*'  Dear  fatal  name  .'  rest  ever  unrevealed, 
Nor  pass  these  lips  iJi  holy  silence  sealed. 
Hide  it.  my  heart,  within  that  close  disguise, 
Where,  niix'd  with  God's,  his  lov'd  idea  lies  : 
Oh  I  V,  rite  it  not,  my  hand  !— his  name  appear* 
Already  written :— blot  it  out  my  tears  i" 

Analysis.  H'-'re  are  several  different  objects  and  parts  of  the  body 
personified  ;  and  each  of  them  in  addressed  or  spoken  to;  let  us  con- 
sider with  what  propriety.     The  first  is,  the  name  of  Abelard  :  "  Deair 

♦  Hier  country  tftUs  her  Eloise,  Pope  Elma  ;  I  write  the  orthography  of  eitl^r. 
15* 


i  68  .'ilip.gory, 

fatal  name  !  rest  ever,"  6ic.  To  this,  no  reasonable  objection  can  he 
made.  For,  as  the  name  of  a  person  often  stands  for  the  person  him- 
self, and  sug^gests  the  same  ideas,  it  can  bear  this  personification  with 
sufficient  dignity.  Next,  Elaise  speaks  to  lierself ;  and  personifies  her 
Iieart  for  this  purpose  :  "  Hide  it,  my  heart,  within  that  close,"  &.C. 
\s  the  heart  is  a  dis^nified  part  of  the  Iniman  frame,  and  is  often  put 
>i- thp  mind  or  affections,  this  also  may  pass  without  blame.  But, 
when  from  her  heart  she  passes  to  her  hand,  and  tells  her  hand  not  to 
write  his  name,  this  is  forced  and  unnatural  ;  a  personified  hand  is 
low,  and  not  in  the  style  of  true  pnssion  ;  and  the  fig^ure  becomes  stiU 
worse,  when,  in  the  last  place,  site  exhorts  her  tears  to  blot  out  what 
her  hand  had  written.  '*  Oh  !  write  it  not,"  kc.  There  is,  in  these 
two  lines,  an  air  of  epig:rammatic  conceit,  which  native  passion  never 
sug-»-ests  ;  and  which  is  alto£;^ethcr  unsuitable  to  the  tenderness  which 
breatlies  through  the  rest  of  that  excellent  poem. 

300.  In  prose  compositions,  this  figure  requires  to  be 
used  with  still  greater  moderation  and  delicacy.  The  same 
liberty  is  not  allowed  to  the  imagination  there,  as  in  poetry. 
The  same  assistances  cannot  be  obtained  for  raising  passion 
to  its  proper  hei,u;ht  by  the  force  of  numbers,  and  the  glow 


CHAPTER  V. 


ALLEGORY. 


oOl.  ALLEGORY  is  a  species  of  writing,  in  which  one 
liing  is  expressed,  and  another  thing  is  understood.     The 
nalogy  is  intended  to  be  so  obvious,  that  the  reader  cannot 
miss  the  application,  but  he  is  left  to  draw  the  proper  con- 
clusion for  his  own  use. 

Fllus.  It  is  for  this  reason  employed  chiefly  when  a  writer  desires  to 
ommunicate  some  important  inteliig^ence  or  advice,  but  is  not  permil- 
od  to  deliver  it  in  plain  terms.  It  is  also  used  for  ornament,  or  to 
mivey  instruction  so  as  to  interest  the  in)agination,  and  flatter  the  un- 
lerstanding,  by  giving  the  reader  the  appearance  of  instructing  himself. 
Example  1.   A  finer  and  more  correct  allegory  is  not  to  be  found  than 

the  following,  in  which  a  vineyard  is  made  to  represent  God's  people, 

.he  Jews.  "  Thou  hast  brought  a  vine  out  of  f^gypt  ;  thou  hast  cast 
L:t  the  hcathm,  and  planted  it.  Thou  preparedst  room  before  it,  and 
iiilst  cause  it  to  take  deep  root,  and  it  filled  the  Innd.  The  hills  were 
overed  with  the  shadow  of  it,  and  the  boughs  thereof  were  like  the 
oodly  cedars.  She  sent  out  her  boughs  unto  the  sea,  and  her  branch- 
's unto  the  river.  Why  hasi  thou  then  broken  down  her  hedges,  so 
:hat  all   they  which  pass  by  the  way  do  pluck  her  ?     The  boar  out  of 

uhe  wood  doth  waste  it,  and  the  wild  beast  of  the  field  doth  devour  it. 

Kcturn,  we  beseech  thee,  0  God  of  hosts  j  look  down  from  heaven- 


Allegory.  169 

and  behold  and  visit  t!)isvine;  and  the  vineyard  which  thy  right  hand 
hath  phinted,  and  the  branch  that  thou  madest  so  strong  for  thyseltV* 
2.  Prior's  Henry  and  Emroa  contains  anotlier  beautitul  example,  in 
which  human  life  is  the  primary  object,  and  a  voyage  also  the  ullegori-- 
cal  one.  Any  reader  of  discernment  will  easily  trace  the  application. 
Rrnma  addresses  Henry  : 

"  Did  I  but  purpose  to  embark  with  thee 
On  the  smooth  suriVice  of  a  summer's  st-a, 
While  gentle  zephyrs  play  in  prosp'rous  gale«, 
And  fortune's  favour  tills  the  swelling  sails, 
But  would  forsake  the  ship,  and  make  the  shore. 
When  the  winds  whistle,  and  the  tempests  roar  ? 
No,  Henry,  no." 

Scholium.  From  these  examples  it  will  appear,  that  allegory  pm* 
takes  of  the  nature  of  metaphor  and  comparison  in  respect  of  resem- 
blance^ though  it  is  not  altogether  a  resemblance  of  the  same  kind.  In 
allegory  no  supposition  is  made,  even  for  a  momerit,  that  the  primary 
object  is  converted  into  the  resembling  one  ;  as  is  done  in  tlie  case  of 
metaphor.  Nor  is  the  similitude  between  the  primary  and  resembling 
object  pointed  out,  as  is  performed  when  comparisons  are  employed. 
We  are  left  to  discover  the  application,  and  to  make  the  proper  infer- 
ence. We  are  satisfied  with  discerning  the  general  purpose  of  the  al- 
legory, without  inquiring  with  minuteness  into  the  interpretation  of 
<:very  })articular  circumstance,  because  circumstances  are  sometimes 
added,  to  adorn  or  complete  the  picture,  without  being  intended  to  in- 
fer any  application.  Allegory  differs  from  metaphor  and  simile  in  an- 
other point.  Almojjt  all  the  subjects  of  allegory  are  personified  ;  and 
these  consist  sometimes  of  things  inanimate,  sometimes  of  abstract 
ideas.     Few  metaphors  or  similes  admit  personification. 

502.  Aliegories  may  be  divided  into  three  lands  ;  first, 
those  calculated  for  ornament :  secondly,  those  designed  for 
instruction :  and  thirdly,  those  intended  both  to  adorn  and 
instruct. 

Example.  Akenside  employs  a  beautiful  allegory,  of  the  ornamtntat 
kind,  to  communicate  a  very  familiar  sentiment,  that  industry  is  ne- 
cessary to  acquire  reputation  in  every  line  of  life,  though  some  men 
are  more  susceptible  of  culture  tlian  others. 

"  . In  vain, 

Without  fair  Culture^s  kind  parental  aid, 
Without  enlivening  suns  and  genial  showers, 
Ai>d  shelter  from  the  blast,— n\  vain  we  hope 
I'he  tender  plant  should  raise  its  blooming  head, 
Or  yield  the  harvest  promised  in  its  spring. 
Nor  yet  will  every  soil  with  equal  stores 
Ilepay  the  tiller's  labour,  or  attend 
His  will  obsequious,  whether  to  produce 
The  olive  or  the  laurel.^' 

Jinalysis.  The  chief  merit  of  this  example  appears  to  be  situated  en- 
tirely in  the  expression. 

SOS.  The  principal  purpose  of  the  second  sort  of  allcgo 
ries;  is  to  cornmunicaie  instruction, 

*  PsaJra  Ixxx.  8— i6. 


Example,  v^uuicu-lian  informs  us,  (lib.  8.;  that  tin:  ioiLj^yaii^  lopiv  ^.^ 
the  Lacedaemonians,   to  Philip,  kin^  of  Macedon,  demandinj!^  compU 
ance  with  some  unreasonable  requisition,  and  threatening^  hostilities  in 
case  of  reluctance,  was  famous  over  all  Greece.     To  the  requisition  of 
Philip,  the  Lacedaemonians  returned  this  laconic  answer,  that  '*  Diony 
sius  was  at  Corinth." 

Analysis.  Philip  knew  well  the  history  of  Dionysius,  and  they  left 
bim  to  make  the  application.  You  will  understand  the  import  of  this 
answer,  when  you  arc  informed,  that  Dionysius  was  king  of  Syracuse, 
in  Sicily  ;  that  he  was  banished  from  his  country  and  crown,  on  ac- 
count of  his  tyranny  ;  and  that,  to  procure  subsistence,  he  had  been 
oblig-ed  to  submit  to  the  humiliating^  employmeut  of  teaching  a  school 
in  Corinth. 

304.  Besides  these  specimens  of  allegory,  the  ancients 
frequently  employ  a  moral  species^  in  order  to  recommend 
the  principles  and  practice  of  virtue  to  the  imagination,  a^ 
well  as  to  the  understanding.  The  moderns  sometimes  fol- 
low them  in  this. 

lUus.  The  address  and  knowledge  of  human  tialure  displayed  by 
Tnis  contrivance  merit  much  commendation.  The  authors  of  ancient 
Greece,  in  all  popular  writinijfs,  both  political  and  moral,  discovet 
much  attachment  to  alle°^orical  composition.  The  Socratic  moral*,  ol 
which  Plato  and  Xonophon  have  left  us  so  many  specimen??,  abound 
with  fififurative  allusions  to  the  arts  and  occupations  of  life  ;  and  the 
!^roater  part  of  the  arf^uments  thoy  contain  are  deduced  frou)  analogy. 
All  these  specim«*ns  have  much  merit  ;  but  the  writif»ors  which  we  have 
particularly  in  view,  are,  the  beautiful  AUti[ory  of  Prodicas,  preserved 
by  Xcnophon,  in  his  Mttnorabilia  iSocraiiSy  and  the  pleasant  picture  ei> 
Unman  life  exhibited  in  the    Tabulnture  of  Cedes. 

305.  The  Amegoky  of  Prodicus  proceeds  upon  the 
-supposition  that  Hercules,  before  he  undertook  the  career  of 
life,  retired  to  deliberate,  whether  he  should  take  the  route 
which  conducted  him  to  the  maTisious  of  Pleasure,  or  the 
path  wliich  led  to  the  temple  of  Virtue. 

J/his.  In  this  critical  situation,  he  is  accosted  by  the  goddesses  of 
tliese  temples,  under  the  allegorical  names  of  Minerva  and  Venus,  who 
by  turns  persuatle  him  to  accompany  them  to  their  respective  abodes, 
i  he  persons,  the  dress,  the  manners  of  the  god«less'?s,  arc  picturesque 
and  characteristic.  Pleasure  addresses  him  first,  and  hastens  her 
pace  to  anticipate  her  rival.  She  invites  him  to  partake  all  those  en- 
loyments,  which  the  most  luxurious  imagination  can  figure  ;  and  her 
rival  listens  with  patience  till  she  enumerates  the  gratifications  she 
had  to  bestow.  Virtue  then  accosts  him  ui  a  modest,  but  decisive  tone 
5ho  acquaints  him,  that  no  true  fame,  happiness,  or  gratification,  is  to 
be  procured  without  great  designs  and  good  deeds  ;  and  that  merit 
alcne  cm  secure  the  tcsr^ect  and  rewards  both  of  gods  and  men. 
Having  explained  her  views,  it  was  nece.si^a.ry  she  should  expatiate  on 
the  vanity  and  futility  of  the  enjoyments  promised  by  Pleasure  j  and 
the  author  has  admirablv  preserved  the  delicacy  of  the  piece,  and  the 
modesty  of  Virtue,  by  inaklng  Pleasure  interrupt  the  speech  of  her 
rival,  and  begin  the  aitacli.    Pleasure  attempts  to  infer,  fpom  the  con- 


Mlegory.  IH 

fession  of  Virtue  herself,  the  labour  and  fatig^ue  which  awaited  her  vo- 
taries. Virtue  retorts  with  severity  and  justice.  She  triumphs  over 
her  rival,  and  prompts  Hercules  to  undertake  those  great  and  merito- 
rious achievements,  which  have  rendered  him  the  object  of  the  admi- 
ration of  all  ages. 

306.  The  Tabulature  of  Cebes  is  constructed  on  a 
larger  scale,  and  leads  to  allusions  much  more  particular. 
It  proceeds  from  the  supposition,  that  some  uncommon 
painting,  alluding  to  the  rarity  of  the  knowledge  and  prac- 
tice of  virtue,  of  which  few  people  understood  the  meaning-, 
had  been  suspended  in  the  temple  of  Saturn. 

Illus.  1.  The  painting  consisted  of  three  conopartraents  ;  one  very 
large,  comprehending  the  other  two.  The  first  compartment  repre- 
sented human  life,  into  which  all  men  enter  ;  the  other  two  compart- 
ments denoted  the  division  of  men  into  good  and  bad,  the  larger  con- 
taining the  bad,  and  the  lesser.thc  good.  Error  and  ignorance  appear 
at  the  gate  of  the  first  compartment,  and  of  their  cup  all  men  drink 
some  portion.  Picjudices,  predilections,  and  pleasures,  next  succeed 
in  the  garb  of  harlots,  to  seduce  ;  and  by  them  also  all  mankind 
are,  more  or  less,  misled.  If  they  are  followed  too  far,  they  con- 
duct their  votaries  into  the  larger  compartment,  and  consign  them  ta 
Extravagance,  Luxury,  Avarice,  or  Flattery,  who  soon  commit  them 
to  Sorrow,  Kemorse,  Funisiiment,  and  Despair.  After  wandering  for 
some  time  in  the  regions  of  Folly,  their  ruin  is  completed,  unless,  by 
accident,  they  encounter  the  great  physician  Repentance,  who,  if  they 
are  willing  to  submit  to  his  directions,  undertakes  their  cure,  and  finaU 
ly  conducts  them  to  tlie  small  compartment,  and  the  happy  abodes  of 
Wisdom. 

2.  But  though  some  men  reach  the  regions  of  Wisdom  by  this  route^ 
it  is  not  the  most  patent  patli  ;  that  path,  much  less  frequented  than  it 
ought  to  be,  stretches  up  an  cmiaence  so  stoep  tliat  many  travellers 
approach  and  survey  it,  but  never  attempt  to  surmount  it.  On  this, 
Temperance  and  Moderation  have  occupied  statfons,  and  are  ready  to 
succour  every  candidate  who  needs  their  assistance.  Fortitude  and 
Activity  soon  join  them,  after  ascending  the  eminence,  and  lead  them 
to  the  abodes  of  Wisdom  and  Happines.  Here  they  meet  with  Pros- 
perity, I'ranquility,  Satisfaction,  and  Health,  in  the  first  place  ;  ajui 
afterwards,  with  a  great  group  of  the  most  pleasant  and  happy  cpm- 
]n\nions.  Integrity,  Contentment,  Frieiulship,  Knowledge,  Wealth, 
Dignity,  Fame.  They  are,  in  a  word,  rendered  superior  to  the  greater 
part  of  those  misfortunes,  which  so  much  disturb  the  happiness  of  man- 
lund  ',  and  experience  as  much  of  the  enjoyments  of  gods  as  is  coin- 
petent  to  mortal  men. 

Corol.  Such  views  of  human  life  are  extremely  captivating,  particu- 
larly to  young  minds.  They  array  Virtue  in  the  most  charming  colours. 
They  engage  the  imagination,  and  even  the  passions,  en  her  side,  and 
?'orm  tiie  most  powerful  bulwark  against  the  encroachment  of  Iniquity 
ind  Folly. 

307".  The  third  sort  of  allegories  are  calculated  botli  for 
ornamerU  and  instruction  ;  and  of  this  species  may  be  ac- 
:9unted  the  allegorical  personifications  which  are  often  in- 
iroduced  into  epic  poetry,  and  sometimes  into  tragedy. 


1 72  Alhgonj, 

Example  I.  No  picture  can  more  forcibly  impress  the  imagiiiatlon, 
no  reasoniiig  can  so  effectually  excit  •  Um  aversion  of  the  heart,  as  the 
allegories  of  Sin  and  Death,  in  Pa*^  -dl  ^  Lost,  The  poet  paints,  first 
Sin,  and  then  Death,  guarding  the  ga^es  of  Hell  at  the  fall  of  Ad^n^ 
and  Eve. 

*'  Before  the  gates  there  sat, 
On  either  «ide.  a  formidable  s!iape 
Th  J  one  »»t-:ut<i  uoniaii  to  ihi'  waUt,  aiid  fair, 
Bur  ♦-ndcd  tb»j|  in  many  a  scaly  fokJ 
Volurnjitoiis  and  vast  a  ser^»ci.c  arm'd 
With  moitni  sti.Ji^  ,  aboi.-t  a*  r  middle  round 
A  cr>  of  ;i'  <i.<iu>^.  bark  d 

"With  win  fu!!  loud,  and  mng 

Ahiri<wi;  ;  •,  •   list,  world  creep. 

If  ;•  .  I  r»     »  iK'is  .  into  her  womb, 

A)  w  ;  yet  thtre  stiJI  burk  and  hoviTd. 

V,\      • 

*'  The  other  shape. 
If  ib«p*'  it  w>»rht  W  ealled  that  shape  had  none, 

Or    '  '   *  -     .  -  V    p^ij,  J  j^„f  jh^ow  seemed, 

Vu\  :  ulaf  k  it  sto'od  as  night, 

Fi.  !  r  ibU  as  »fell, 

Anu  "»lr^^.^  ii  v  i .  iuniti  I'iirt ;  wbat  sptined  bit  beati 
The  likeness  ol  a  kwigly  crown  iiad  on.*' 

AnnJysis.  These  alleg^orical  frg-urfs  are  strongly  ni.n  kv.t.  .mu  ii.;-  m - 
.embJance  of  their  characters  to  the  eff^'^t^;  produced  in  life  is  to  obvi- 
ous to  need  any  comnienl  Thepit  !ure  which  Virgil  exhibits  of  Fame, 
in  the  fourth  yEneid,  possesses  similar  merit,  and  is  deduced  from  the 
same  principles  * 

Examplt  2.  The  subsequent  picture  of  Slander,  resembles  that  of 
Fame  in  Virgil,  and  is  drawn  witli  great  vio^our  of  imagination,  and 
mix  h  allegorical  merit.     It  is  for.nd  in  Shakespeare's  ryinliplmp 

*  No,  \it  Slander, 
Whose  edgi  is  sharper  tliaii  tK»   vword   whose  tongue 
Outv-noins  all  the  wof:  t  ath 

Ridt  s  oii  the  postiit^;  v-- , 

All  corH.Ts  of  th«  woihi  d  states, 

Maids,  muu-oM  i  nay,  the  vc^^crcts  uf  the  ^ravc." 

308.  All  the  great  poets  have  indulged  in  this  species  of 
figure.  Homcv prraonifies  prayers,  and  converts  them  into 
mniabh  heingSy  under  the  fei*;ne<l  appellation  of  "  Jove^s 
Dat.'ghferSy^^  who  are  concerned  for  the  happiness  of  man- 
kind ;  and  recommend  attachment  to  the  worship  and  ser- 
vile of  the  gods,  as  lh;#  best  means  of  recovering  or  preserv- 
ing that  happiness. 

•  But  Virgil's  Fame  is  a  mixed  allegorical  composition,  nmru  vmji  stand  the  test  of 
eriticjim  in  poetry;  l>'caMsc,in  writiiig,  the  allegory  can  easily  U.'disiiiiguisht'd  from 
the  historic.il  pan.  •  No  )h  rson  mistakes  Vir^ls  Fame  for  a  real  being.  JVor  is  the 
Tabulature  of  Ceb€s  considered  otherwiie  iliau  a  suppo.^ed  picture.  But  in  thu 
History  of  >.Tary  do  Med»cii,  painted  in  some  pictures,  which  (in  icl7)  I  ha\-e  seen, 
dfcoruting  the  gaik  ry  of  the  I^otnre,  a  perpetual  uaible  of  real  and  allegorical  per- 
sonngis.  that  produce  a  discordance  of  parts,  and  an  obscurity  upon  the  whole,  is 
befoiv  the  spectator's  eyes.  Real  personaofs,  Nenids  and  Tritons,  fiction  and  reality, 
are  niixtd  ii'  the  sanie  group  ,  a  njonstrouscwiiporition,  only  outdone  by  Lcuis  XIV's 
eiiorniou-*  cnariot.  intended  to  rtprestnt  that  of  the  sun,  surrounded  with  men  and 
women,  representing  tlte  four  ages  of  the  world,  the  eele«tial  signs,  the  scuspns,  thy 
hours,  ^c* 


Memory.  175 

Scholia  1.  Allegory  is  not  very  common,  either  for  the  purposes  of 
ornament  or  instruction.  An  extraordinary  share  both  of  ingenuity 
and  imagination  is  requ  ?;ite  to  ensure  success  ;  and  the  rising  genius, 
of  generous  heart,  and  promising  parts,  who  feels  an  inclination  for  al- 
legorical writing,  must  guard  against  quaint  ornaments,  and  the  ex 
tending  of  allusions  to  too  great  minuteness.  Let  him  always  study 
brevity,  and  remember,  that  resemblances  which  have  cost  him  much 
time  to  devise,  are  likely  to  cost  the  reader  -as  much  time  to  perceive  ; 
the  consequences  of  which  need  no  illustration. 

2.  As  allegories  are  in  a  great  measure  the  work  of  imagination, 
they  cannot  be  admitted  into  any  species  of  writing  much  calculated  to 
interest  the  passions.  All  the  arguments  against  long  metaphors,  ap- 
ply with  double  force  against  the  allegories  of  the  secoiid  and  third  kinds ^ 
which  seldom  can  be  formed  with  sufficient  brevity  for  their  admission. 
But  the^r*^  species  of  allegories,  which  elevate  and  adorn  a  common 
seutiment,  are  of  general  use  ;  and  in  employing  them,  care  should 
be  taken  that  the  phraseology  be  all  figurative,  that  the  attributes  of 
the  primary  and  the  secondary  subject  be  not  confounded  and  inter- 
changed. 

Example  1.  The  most  correct  writers  are  sometimes  faulty  it  this 
particular  ;  even  Horace  and  Boileau  are  not  unexceptionable.  Hor- 
ace, in  the  following  example,  applies  two  epithets  to  the  subject  of 
the  allegory,  which  can  be  applicable  only  to  the  primary  subject. 

"  Ferus  et  Cupido, 
Semper  «rdantes  acuens  sagittas, 
Cote  cruenta." 

Analysis.  ^*  Ardentes"  is  intelligible  when  applied  to  love,  the  prima- 
ry subject,  which,  in  a  figurative  sense,  is  often  said  to  burn  ;  but  it 
has  no  meaning  when  applied  to  an  arrow,  which  is  never  supposed  to 
be  hot.  "  Cruenta,"  also,  may  be  significant  figuratively  of  the  distress 
of  unsuccessful  love,  but  nobody  ever  heard  of  a  bloody  whetstone. 
No  admirer  of  Horace  would  defend  him.  by  alledging  the  epithet  was 
proper,  because  the  stone  made  sharp  the  arrow  which  drew  the  blood, 
Horace  himself  would  have  been  ashamed  of  such  a  defence. 

Example  2.  Boileau  has  introduced  a  strange  mixture  of  figurative 
and  literal  signification  in  the  subsequent  example : 

"  Pmir  nx)i  sur  cette  mer,  quici  has  nous  courons 
Je  songe  a  mc  pouvoiv  u'esquif  «t  d'avirons 
A  regler  mes  desirs,  a  prevenir  Torag^', 
Kt  sauver  s'il  se  pent,  ma  raison  du  niiufrage." 

Analysis.  These  lines  exhibit  hum^n  life  under  the  notion  of  a  vov- 
age  at  sea  ;  but  instead  of  adhering  to  this  view  of  the  subject,  the  au- 
thor changes  the  allegorical  to  th<»  literal  meaning,  and,  with  abundance 
of  inconsistency,  speaks  of  preparing  a  boat  and  oars,  to  regulate  his 
passions,  and  to  save  his  reason  from  shipwreck.  Reason  can  he  ship- 
wrecked figuratively  only.  The  hypothesis,  therefore,  of  a  man's  un- 
derstanding taken  up  at  sea,  and  sa/ed  from  drowning  in  a  storm,  is 
somewhat  more  than  ridiculous  ;  it  is  not  a  little  absurd.  (SttJinaly- 
w>.  Ea>.  3.  Jlrt.  269.) 


"174  •.Apostrophe 


CHAPTER  VI. 

APOSTROPHE. 

309.  APOSTROPHE  is  a  turning  off  from  the  regular 
course  of  the  subject  to  address  some  person  or  thing. 
Apostrophe,  derived  from  the  same  source  with  personifica- 
tion, is  the  joint  work  of  imagination  and  passion,  bi^t  de- 
mands not  generally  so  bold  an  exertion  of  those  faculties 
as  personification,     (Art*  290.) 

Illus.  1.  It  is  commonly  satisfied  with  addressing  living  objects  that 

ve  ahsenl.  or  dead  objects  with   which   we  were   familiar  while  they 

ere  in  life.     Some  of  its  boldest   eftbrts   exhaust   the  essence  of  per- 

onification,   and  call  up  and  address  the  inamimate  objects  of  nature. 

2    A  well-chosen  comparison,   an   extended   metaphor,  or  allej^orv, 

will  please  both  the  imag^ination  and  the  passions,  when  gently  agitated. 

■^ut  iet  the  passions  rise  to  violence,  and  the  gratifications  of  the  ima- 

iuation  will  yield  them  no  satisfaction. 

3.  On  this  account,  ArosTRoriii:s  addressed  to  the  imagination,  are 
frequently  extended  to  considerable  lenglht  and  are  net  by  being  so  the 
les?  agreeable  :  while  those  addressed  lo  the  pas'tions,  must  all  be  shorty 
o  correspond  to  the  desultory  and  distracted  condition  of  the  mind. 

310.  Our  arrangement,  then,  of  examples,  will  naturally 
fall  into  two  classes  ;  first,  those  more  lengthened  and  pic- 
furcsque  apostrophes,  in  which  the  pleasure  of  the  hnagina- 
lion  has  chiefly  been  consulted  :  and,  secondly,  those  ex- 
pressive of  the  violence  of  passion, 

.311.  The  bold  and  vigorous  genius  of  Ossian  delights  in 
this  figure,  and  affords  many  beautiful  examples  {)( the  first 
species, 

E.ca:7}ple.  His  address  to  the  Moon,  is  one  of  the  most  pleasant  pic- 
tures of  this  sort,  which,  perhaps,  any  language  can  supply.  It  excites 
melancholy  emotion,  and  charms  the  fancy,  but  it  aims  not  to  rouse 
strong  passion. 

♦*  Daughter  of  heaven,  fair  art  thou  !  the  silence  of  thy  face  is 
pleasant  :  thou  comest  forth  in  loveliness  ;  the  stars  attend  thy  blue 
steps  in  the  east.  The  clouds  rejoice  in  thy  presence,  O  iMoon  I  and 
brighten  their  dark-brown  sides.  Who  is  like  thee  in  heaven,  daugh- 
ter of  the  night  ?  The  stars  are  ashamed  in  thy  presence,  and  turn 
asivic  their  sparkling  eyes.  Whither  dost  thou  retire'  irrtm  thy  course, 
when  the  darkness  of  thy  countenance  grows  ?  Hast  thou  thy  hall 
like  Ossian  ?  Dwollest  thou  in  the  shadow  of  grief  ?  Have  thy  sisters 
fallen  from  heaven  r'  and  are  they  who  rejoiced  with  thee  at  night  no 
xx\ovo  ? — Yes,  they  have  fallen,  fair  light!  and  often  dost  thou  retire  to 
mo'jrn. — But  thou  thyself  shalt  one  night  fail,  and  leave  thy  blue  path 
i.i  heaven.  The  stars  will  then  lift  their  heads  ;  they  who  rn  thy  pres- 
•  nce  were  astonished  will  rejoice." 


Apostrophe,  17  S 

Analysis.  The  solution  of  the  change  of  the  moon,  founded  on  the 
opinion  that  she  retired  from  her  course  to  lament  the  loss  of  her  sis- 
ters, adds  sympathy  to  the  picture,  and  captivates  the  heart  from  the 
resemblance  between  her  melancholy  situation  and  that  of  the  poet. 
In  this  example,  the  objects  are  striking,  and  tender,  and  elevated, 
and  excite  correspondent  emotions  in  the  mind,  but  they  cannot  be 
said  to  agitate  it  with  passion. 

3 1 2.  The  apostrophes  of  the  second  class  are  the  offsprins; 
of  deep  agitation;  and  the  subsequent  instances  will  illus- 
trate the  nature  of  their  influence  and  operation. 

Example.  In  the  tragedy  of  Douglas,  Lady  Randolph  thus  accoonts 
for  the  loss  of  her  son  : 

'•  That  very  nij»ht  in  which  my  son  was  bom, 
My  nurse,  the  only  cojifidenl  I  had, 
Set  out  v\ith  him  to  nach  her  sister's  house  ; 
But  nurse  nor  infant  have  1  ever  seen, 
Nor  heard  of  Anna  since  that  fatal  hour. 
My  Hiurtler'd  child  !  had  thy  fond  mother  feared 
The  loss  of  thee,  she  bad  loud  fame  defied, 
Despised  ber  fatht  r's  rage,  her  fathers  grief. 
And  wander'd  with  thee  through  the  scorning  world.*' 

Jinalysis.  The  apostrophe  of  the  mother  to  the  child,  as  soou  as  it 
was  mentioned — the  exaggerated  supposition,  that  the  unfortunate 
nurse  had  murdered  it,  and  made  her  escape  to  save  herself — the  reso- 
lution of  the  mother  to  have  run  every  risk,  had  she  auspected  any  part 
of  the  misfortune  that  happened— -are  all  the  expressions  of  nature,  and 
of  genuine  passion. 

313.  A  principal  error  in  the  use  of  apostrophe,  is  to  decfz 
th<*  object  addressed  with  affected  ornaments.  It  is  by  these 
ornanients  that  authors  relinquish  the  expression  of  passion, 
and  substitute  in  its  stead  the  language  of  fancj. 

Example.  What  opinion  will  the  reader  of  taste  form  of  the  follow- 
ing quaint  <and  laboured  address  of  Cleopatra  to  the  serpent,  with 
which  she  was  about  to  poison  herself.  It  is  taken  from  Dryden's 
Mil  for  Love. 

"  Welcome,  thou  kind  deceiver, 
Thou  best  of  thieves,  who.  with  an  easy  key, 
Dost  open  life,  and.  unperceivtd  by  us, 
Ev'n  steal  us  from  ourselves,  discbargine^  bo 
Death's  dreadful  office,  better  than  himself, 
Touching  our  limbs  lo  gently  into  slumber, 
That  Death  stands  by.  deceiv'd  by  his  own  imagi*. 
And  thjnHs  himself  but  sleep,'* 

Jnali/sis.  Such  conceits  would  scarcely  bo  endured  in  th«>  most  cool 
descriptive  poem.  They  cannot  be  supposed  more  improper  than 
where  they  are  They  resemble  some  of  the  obscure  and  forced  al- 
lusions of  allegorical  writers,  which  tlio  reader  has  difficulty  to  under- 
stand. 

314.  Another  frequent  error  is,  to  extend  this  figure  to 
too  great  length.  The  language  of  violent  passioT!  is  always 
concise,  and  often  abrupt,  it  passes  suddenly  froti^  oric  ob- 
ject to  another.     It  often  glances  at  a  thought,  starts  from  it, 

16 


ITS  Apostrophe. 

and  leaves  it  unfinished.     The  succession  of  ideas  is  irregix 
lar,  and  connected  bj  distant  and  uncommon  relations. 

Corol.  On  all  these  accounts,  nothing  is  more  unnatural  than  long 
speeches  uttered  by  persons  under  the  influence  of  strong  passions. 
Yet  this  error  occurs  in  several  tragic  poets  of  no  inferior  reputation. 

315.  Apostrophe  frequently  appeared  in  the  oratory  of 
antiqtii'y.  Demosthenes  abounds  in  a  figure  so  bold,  and  so 
suitable  to  the  ardent  tone  of  his  own  mind. 

lUus.  He  often  turns  abruptly  from  the  judp;es  and  his  argument, 
and  addresses  himself  to  his  antag^onist,  or  the  person  accused.  He 
seldom,  however,  personifies  an  inanimate  object. 

316.  Cicero  also  affords  many  examples  of  every  species 
of  apostrophe. 

tllus.  1.  In  hh  Oration  for  Li^arius,  he  addresses  Tubero,  the  prose- 
cutor, with  V  "hemence,  and  paints  in  stron;^  colours  the  criminality  of 
his  conduct,  tlie  partiality  and  animosity  of  his  intentions.  He  per- 
onifies  and  addresses  the  sword  of  Tubero,  and  puts  him  in  mind  of 
)L'ing  in  arms  against  Caesar  at  Pharsalia,  if  Ligarius,  whom  he  accu- 
sed of  treason,  had  borne  arms  against  Casar  in  Africa/ 

2.  In  his  speech  against  Catiline  in  the  Senate,  one  of  the  most  ar- 
dcni  and  eloquent  of  all  his  orations,  he  bursts  forth  abruptly  like  a 
torrent,  with  an  apostrophe  to  Catiline  himself,  who  had  the  impudence 
to  enter  the  senate-house,  while  the  subject  of  bis  conspiracy  was  to  be 
debated. 

3.  Never  did  an  oration  commence  in  a  higher  tone  ;  and  it  needed 
all  the  genius  and  fire  of  one  of  the  greatest  orators  t9  support  a  cor- 
respondent spirit  in  the  sequel  of  the  speech.  Cicero,  however,  effect- 
ed it.  He  was  deeply  interested  in  the  suppression  of  a  conspiracy, 
which  his  office  of  consul,  his  honour  as  an  orator,  and  the  salety  of 
his  country,  demanded  of  him.  He  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  elated 
with  the  highest  fame  of  civil  honours  and  oratorical  ability  ;  all  con- 
curred to  prompt  this  great  efibrt  of  eloquence. 

317.  Apostrophe  has  seldom  made  its  appearance  iu 
modern  oratory,  except  with  some  French  preachers,  and 
some  enthusiasts  of  that  character  among  ourselves. 

Illiis.  A  French  orator  may  address  the  cross  of  Christ,  and  implore 
the  patronage  and  intercession  of  St.  Louis  with  success,  on  ciccount 
of  the  peculiarity  of  the  national  faith  of  his  countrymen  ;  but  sucli 
eloquence  could  expect  no  belter  reception  in  this  island  than  ridicule 
or  contempt. 

3 1 8.  The  British  Houses  of  Parliament  are  at  present  the 
best  theatres  in  the  world  for  the  display  of  eloquence  ;  but 
manv  causes  concur  to  render  its  appearances  there  less 
bold  than  it  was  among  the  ancients. 

Jllus.  The  abstract  political  or  commercial  nature  of  a  great  part  of 

*  "  Quid  enim  disuictus  illc  tuus  in  acie  Pharsaiia  gladius  agebat  ?  ciijus  latus  iltc 
muero  petebat  ?  c^ui  seu$u»  erat  armorum  ?  q'.ta  tua  mens  ?  oculi  ?  luanu*  ?  ardor 
antrai  ?    C(uii  cupiebas  ?  quid  optabas  ?"' 


Byperhoie.  I'fY 

ihe  subjects  on  which  it  is  employed  ;  the  ambition  of  modem  orators 
to  reduce  legislation  and  c  mmon  law  to  the  cool  principles  of  equity 
and  justice  ]  their  superior  attention,  on  that  account,  to  facts  and  ar- 
guments, than  to  the  phraseology  and  figures  of  pathetic  eloquence  , 
and  finally,  the  insensibility,  perhaps,  of  British  constitutions,  and  their 
greater  indiiference,  on  that  account,  to  the  pleasures  of  imagination 
and  passion  ;  all  co-operate  to  repress  ti»e  more  passionate  exhibitions 
of  oratory. 

319.  At  Athens  and  Rome,  the  existence  of  the  state 
sometimes  depended  on  an  oration  ;  the  most  successful 
speaker  was  sure  to  gain  every  lionour  and  advantage  the 
public  had  to  bestow. 

lllus.  He  addressed  large  bodies  of  men,  who  had  no  established 
principles  to  direct  their  judgments,  little  knowledge  of  the  theory  of 
g-overnment,  little  impartiality,  little  discernment,  little  experience. 
Even  the  senate  of  Rome  in  later  times,  hardly  merited  a  better  cha- 
racter, and  the  assemblies  of  the  people  deserved  a  much  worse  onft. 
They  were  factious,  fickle,  ignorant,  partial,  interested,  and  violent. 
They  had  no  guides,  but  their  appetites  and  passions,  and  the  orators, 
to  manage  them,  were  obliged  to  impress  these  guides. 

CoroL  Apostrophe  is,  on  the  whole,  a  figure  too  passionate  to  gain 
much  admittance  into  any  species  of  composition,  except  poetry  and 
oratory. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


HYPERBOLE. 


320.  HYPERBOLE  is  also  the  offspring  of  the  In/luence 
of  imagination  and  passion  over  our  opinions,  and  its  pur- 
pose is  to  exalt  our  conceptions  of  an  object  beyond  its  na- 
tural bounds. 

Jllus.  1.  Our  passions  magnifiy  the  qualities  of  objects  to  which  they 
ure  attached,  and  diminish  the  qualities  of  those  they  disapprove  or 
dislike.  We  exaggerate  the  good  qualities  of  our  friends,  and  under- 
rate those  of  our  enemies.  Wc  estimate  higher  a  possession  of  our 
own,  than  a  similar  property  of  our  neighbour.  It  is  not  insincerity 
that  actuates  us,  and  prompts  us  to  impose  on  others,  while  we  are  con- 
scious of  the  error.  Our  attachment  to  every  thing  connected  with 
ourselves,  dictates  the  partial  judgments  we  form  of  it  ;  the  want  of 
that  attachment  with  respect  to  the  things  of  our  neighbour,  or  the  op- 
posite of  it,  aversion,  with  respect  to  the  things  of  our  enemy,  make 
our  cpinions  of  them,  in  like  manner,  deviate  from  truth. 

2.  The  purpose  of  hyperbole,  is  to  f;ratify  these  predilections  and  an- 

Ipalhies,  which  it  is  impossible  to  eradicate  from  the  minds  of  the  most 
^lightened  part  of  mankind,  and  which  often  extinguish,  in  the  less 

iiltivated  part,  every  spark  of  justice  and  candour.* 

*  "  Est  autem  in  usu  vulgn  quoque,  et  inter  ineruditos.  et  apud  rusticos  ridelicit' 
4luod  iiatura  est  omuibus,  augendi  res  ytl  ininueadi  cupiditas  msita,  nee  quistiuai© 
?ero  contentus  est."    Quinctilian. 


ITS  Hyperbole. 

321.  This  figure  is  peculiarly  graceful  and  pleasant,  whea 
ue  do  not  accurately  perceive  the  Ivnits  of  the  subject  we 
exaggerate  ;  because  we  most  easily  believe  a  thing  is  very 
great,  when  we  do  not  know  exactly  how  great  it  is. 

Itlns.  Hypprbole,  in  such  a  case,  resembles  the  beautiful  deception 
i>f  the  rising-  luoon,  when  her  orb  appears  uncommonly  larg^o.  because 
seen  indistinctly  through  all  the  mists  and  vapours  of  the  horizon  ;  or 
Ihat  other  deception  iu  the  phenomena  of  vision,  by  which  a  small  ob- 
ject, placed  in  a  shade,  passes  for  a  great  one  situated  at  a  distance. 

322.  All  discourse  and  writing  admit  hyperbole.  Though 
the  offspring  of  the  most  violent  passion,  it  is  also  consistent 
with  com|)osure  of  mind.  It  sonjetimes  aff«)rds  high  enjoy- 
ment to  the  imagination,  and  indulges  this  faculty  with  the 
most  magnificent  exhibitions  of  nature  and  art.  It  shines, 
however,  with  most  conspicuous  lustre  in  the  higher  kinds 
of  poetry  and  oratory.  It  appears  chiefly  in  tragetly  during 
tlie  first  transports  of  passion  ;  and  in  all  these  cases,  it  may 
be  employed  to  diminish,  as  well  as  to  magnify. 

Example  1.  The  fear  of  an  enemy  augments  the  conceptions  of  the 
size  and  prowess  of  their  leader.  Thus  th»'  scout  in  Os.-?ian,  seized 
with  this  propensity,  delineates  a  dreadful  picture  of  the  enemy's  chief. 

"  I  saw  their  chief,  tall  as  a  rock  of  ice  ;  big  spear,  the  blasted  fir  ; 
his  ihifdd,  the  rising  mouii  ;  he  sat  ou  tlie  shore,  like  a  cloud  of  mist 
on  the  hill." 

Examjilc  2.  Admiration  of  the  happiness  of  successful  love  txngge- 
rates  conceptions  of  the  lover.  Shakespeare  supposes  the  eh-vation  of 
(he  lover's  mind  so  great  as  to  counteract  the  natural  laws  of  g^ravitjr 
respecting  his  body. 

<•  A  lorer  mny  betuidt*  the  Gouarocr. 
I'hut  idlei  III  the  wantuii  lunmier  air, 
Aiul  J  vt  not  fall— so  ligtit  ii  vaiMty.'* 

Example  3.  Horror  of  treason  and  opposition  prompts  the  most 
ri^jhtfu!  notions  of  ihetrHitor  aiul  oppressor.  Cicero,  on  this  feeling, 
xbibits  a  striking  view  of  the  enormities  of  Antony.     **  Qua^  Charyb- 

■iis  tarn  >ora.\  ?     Charybdim  <lico  ?     Quce   si    fuit,   fuit  animnl  uuuiu. 

Oceanus,  medius  fidius,   vix  videtur  tot  res  tarn  dissipatas,  tarn  distan- 

iibu^  in  h»cis  positas,  tarn  cifo  abs«»rbere  potuisse." 

Example  4.  The  irksome  ftehng  suggested  by  the  sight  of  lean  caftle 

tempts  us  to  conclude,   that  the  parts  of  their  bodies  have  no  bond  oi 

union  but  the  skin.     Virgil  accordingly  says  of  such  animals,  by  way 

of  diminution, 

"  y'lx  o««ibu9  harem." 

Example  '>.  Envy  also  diminishes  its  object  :  and  upon  this  prmciple 
Shakespeare  introduce*  Cassius  vilifying  the  behaviour  of  Cicsar  iu  * 
'rver. 

,  ''  He  had  g  ft'vtr  when  he  was  in  Spain  ; 

And  v>h»u  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 

How  li.'  did  sliakt'     '  lis  true  this  jjod  did  shake  ; 

His  c'ovvaiti  Tips  did  <ron»  th;  ir  colour  tly  ; 

And  that  same  eye  ^koie  bvn4  Uid  a^Yw  tk«  wed<J  > 


Hyperbole,  1 79 

Did  lose  its  lustre:  1  did  hear  him  ffroan, 
Aye,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Homans 
Mhrk  him.  and  write  liis  speeches  in  thtir  books, 
Alas !  it  cry'd — Give  me  soaie  drink,  I'itiuius, 
As  a  sick  girl." 

Example  6.  The  resentment  o^  W?im\e\.  against  the  ignominious  mar- 
riag-e  of  his  mother,  makes  liini  lessen  the.  time  she  had  remained  a 
widow  : 

"  That  it  should  come  to  this  1 
But  two  months  dead  1  nay,  not  so  much,  not  two, 

Within  a  month, 

A  little  month,  or  ere  those  shoes  were  old. 
With  whic!)  she  iollow'd  my  poor  father's  body^ 
She  luarritd." 

Example  7.  Fame  exag^^erates  the  person,  as  well  as  the  qualities, 
of  a  hero.  **  The  Scythians,  impressed  with  the  fame  of  Alexander, 
were  astonished  when  they  found  him  a  little  man."     Karnes. 

S£3.  In  the  speeches  of  ancient  generals  to  their  armies, 
many  beautiful  instances  are  to  be  found  of  both  kinds  of 
this  figure  ;  exaggerations,  on  the  one  hand,  of  the  number, 
force,  courage,  and  hopes,  of  their  own  troops;  and,  on  the 
other,  diminutions  of  those  of  their  enemies,  in  order  to  in- 
spire that  confidence  of  success  which  in  these  times  was 
one  of  the  surest  means  of  victory. 

Examjde.  Longinus  mentions  a  dhmnntive  concerning  a  piece  of 
ground,  the  property  of  some  poor  man  :  and  Quinctilian  another  ol 
Varro  on  the  same  subject.  The  former  represents  the  property  a* 
*'  not  larger  than  a  LiiccdajQionian  letter,"  which  consisted  sometimes 
of  iivo  or  three  words.  Varro  fig^ures  it  to  be  as  small  as  a  sling-'Stone  ; 
nay,  he  supposes  it  may  even  fail  through  the  hole  in  the  bottom  of  the 
,sling.*     Both  these  examples  seem  to  belong  to  ridicule. 

3-24.  The  errors  frequent  in  the  use  of  hyperbole,  arise 
either  from  overstraining  or  introducing  it  on  unsuitable  oc- 
casions. 

Example  1.  Dryden,  in  his  pofein  on  Ihe  restoration  of  king  Charles 
the  Second,  compliments  that  mo%rch  at  the  expense  of  the  sun  hiai- 
self; 

"  That  star  that  at  your  birth  shone  out  so  bright, 
It  stained  the  duilwr  sun's  meridian  light." 

Example  2.  Prior  supposes  the  fire  of  a  lady's  eyes  to  outshine  the 
flames  of  Rome,  when  lighted  up  by  ISero  ;  and  the  music  of  her  lute, 
to  surpass  the  fabulous  miracles  of  Amphion,  in  building  the  city  of 
Thebes.  She  would  have  rebuilt  Rome  faster  than  it  could  have  been 
destroyed  by  the  fires  ol  N  -ro  : 

»'  To  burning  Rome,  when  frantic  Nero  played, 
Viewing  thy  face,  no  more  h(  had  surveyed 
"llie  raging  tiatues.  but  struck  with  strange  surprise, 
Confessed  them  less  than  those  in  Anna's  eyes. 
But  bad  he  heard  thy  lute,  he  soon  had  found 

*  "  Tundum  Varro  Yocat.  qtjem  possum  mittere  funda  ni  ta^^cn  «x«artitj  «tiS(.c^V2i 
i^oHda  patet*'* 

16* 


180  ITxjperbole. 

His  rage  eluded,  and  his  crime  atoned  ; 

Thins  like  A:T»phion*s  hand,  had  waked  the  sXoue. 

And  fioHi  destruetifiH  calUtl  the  risinjj  town. 

Malice  to  music  h..d  been  iorc'd  to  yield, 

Kor  could  he  bum  su  fast  ai  'huu  cuuldit  build." 

Example  3.  Shaiiespearo,  in  ma jniJyiii«T  the  warlike  character  of 
his  herors,  sometimes  exaggerates  beyond  ail  boiuid<»  of  probahility. 
The  description  of  tiie  river  Severn  hastening  to  the  reeds,  to  hide  his 
head  from  the  sight  of  combatants  so  furious  as  Mortimer  and  Glen> 
dower,  can  scarcely  be  read  with  gravity. 

"  In  tingle  oppusition,  hand  to  hantl, 

He  did  contuund  the  best  part  of  an  hour. 

In  chaii^u^  hardimeiit  with  jrreat  Glendower 

Thn'e  tiiuei  they  breatltM.  and  three  tirne-j  did  lliey  drink; 

Upon  a^retineni.  ofsuift  Severn"'*  Hood  ; 

"Who.  then  alViij^hted  with  th4-ir  blo<Kl)  looks, 

Han  fearfully  aiuoni^  the  treUibhu^  reed<. 

And  hid  hi«  cri<ipM  head  in  tbf  itoilow  Imiik, 

iiluod-staincU  with  these  valiant  couibatants.*' 

Example  4.  Guarini,  who  perhaps  excels  all  poets  in  studied  extrav- 
agance, makes  a  shepherd  thus  ad«hess  his  mistress  :  ••'  If  all  the  sticks 
in  Ihft  world  were  njade  into  pens,  the  heavens  into  paper,  and  the  sea 
into  ink,  they  would  not  furnt»b  luateriuls  *jfficient  to  describe  tlie 
least  part  of  your  perfections." 

Example  />.  Again,  the  same  poet  says,  '^  If  J  iiad  as  many  tongues, 
and  as  many  words,  as  tlivMe  are  stars  in  the  heavens,  an<l  grains  of 
sand  on  the  s;hore,  my  tunijues  would  be  tired,  and  my  words  woulil 
l>e  exhausted,  before  1  coidd  do  justice  to  your  immense  merit.*" 

Example  6.  An  English  poet  converted  the  circnni.t.nices  of  the 
"ormer  of  these  extravagant  compliments  into  a  satire  no  less  cx»nr!jer- 
Ued  : 

*»  Could  we  with  ink  the  ocean  fill, 

Wen"  earth  of  purchtiu  nt  niuUc  ; 
Wt  re  every  siuf^R-  stick  u  quill, 

Each  man  a  icrib*   by  tnide  ; 
To  write  the  tricks  of  half  the  «  x, 

■N^'oiild  drinl.  ihut  oc«  an  drj. 
UallRMts,  U'ware,  look  «liar|>,  take  c:ire  ; 

Hie  blind  eat  many  u  Hy.'" 

323.  Hyperboles  should  never  be  introduced  till  tUc  mind 
wfthe  reatltM'  is  prejmred  fo  rtliali  them.  The  introduction 
«f  such  bolt!  figures  abniptly,  puts  the  reader  on  his  ^niard, 
and  excites  his  reflection,  which  coimnonly  dissipates  the 
ilelusion,  and  defeats  the  purpose  of  the  writer. 

Example.  No  passion  ever  spoke  the  languaore  which  grief  is  made 
to  a>sume  io  the  following  unnatural  exaggeration.  The  figure  and 
t!ie  tone  of  sentiment  are  totally  discordant.  King  Uicliard  11.  deeply 
distressed  on  account  of  the  calamities  of  t!ie  nation,  tiius  addresses  hifi 
t.ousiu  Aumerlo,  vtho  was  under  much  afU'ction  from  the  same  ;ause  : 
"  W'hy  weepest  thou,  my  tender-hearted  cousin  ? 
Well  make  foul  weatlur  with  despised  tears ; 


•  *♦  Si  tante  linj^^iK^  Imvesse,  et  tante  Toce, 

Quant*  ochil  il  cielo.  e  quante  arene  il  mare. 

Pefderian  tutte  il  suono,  e  la  favella. 

Nt'J  dir  a  ^ien  Ic  voitrc  Iwdi  imoi^nse."    Paster  Tidfi.  Ad  V.  Scene  %. 


Climax,  or  Amplificatioru  ISl 

©ur  sighs,  and  they  shall  lodge  the  corn, 
And  make  u  dearth  in  this  revolting  land.** 

326.  Hyperboles  are  improper,  when  tliej  maybe  turn- 
ed against  the  argument  of  the  author  who  uses  them. 

lihis.  Isocratcs,  it  is  said,  had  employed  many  years  in  composing  a 
panegyric  on  the  Athenians,  to  assert  their  pretensions  to  precedency 
in  the  management  of  the  affairs  of  Greece.  It  was  delivered  at  the 
Olympic  games,  attended  by  citizens  from  all  the  states  of  that  country  ; 
and  in  the  beginning  of  it  he  introduced  the  subsequent  exaggerated 
eompliment  to  eloquence. 

Example.  "  Eloquence  can  reverse  in  appearance  the  nature  of 
things.  It  can  impart  to  illustrious  deeds  the  air  of  lowliness  and  in- 
significance, and  exhibit  inconsiderable,  and  even  trifling  actions,  with 
the  dignity  of  magnificence  and  heroism.  It  can  bestow  on  antiquity 
tlie  garb  of  novelty,  and  attire  novelty  with  the  respect  and  vencratioe 
due  to  antiquity/' 

Aiialysu.  Longinus  pertinently  remarks,  the  author  did  not  observe, 
that  by  this  unseasonal)lc  encomium  he  was  dispersing  among  his  hear- 
ers an  antidote  against  the  operatioB  of  all  the  arguments  he  had  to 
advance  in  behalf  of  his  countrymen,  the  Athenians.  Would  the  other 
Greek  states  be  persuaded  to  do  what  they  disliked,  by  an  orator  wh9 
had  told  them  that  his  eloquence  could  reverse  in  appearance  the  na- 
ture of  things?  Might  they  not,  in  doing  \',  hat  he  advised,  perform 
the  very  opposite  of  what  w  as  right  ? 


V 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

t'LlMAX,    OR    AMPLIFICATION. 

3Sr.  CLIMAX,  OK  AMPLiFCATxoN,  is  nearly  related  t^ 
hyperbole,  and  diftei^s  from  it  chiefly  in  degree.  The  pur- 
pose  of  HYPERBOLE  IS  to  exalt  our  conceptions  heyond  the 
truth  ;  of  climax,  to  elevate  oar  ideas  of  the  truth  itself,  by 
a  series  of  circumstances,  ascending  one  above  another  in 
respect  of  importance,  and  all  pointing  toward  the  same  ob- 
ject. 

flbis.  This  figure,  when  properly  introduced  and  di-played,  affords 
a  very  sensible  pleasure.  It  accords  with  our  disposition  to  enlarge 
our  conceptions  ol  any  object  we  contemplate  ;  it  affords  a  gratifica- 
tion similar  to  what  we  receive  on  ascending  an  eminence  situated  in 
Mie  centre  of  a  rich  and  varied  Uindr;cape,  where  every  step  we  pro- 
ocd  presents  a  grander  and  more  extensive  prospect. 
Example.  Shakespeare  exhibits  specimens  of  almost  Gyery  poetical 
beauty,  and  is  not  deficient  in  instances  of  climax. 

"  The  cloud-capt  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaceJ, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea.  all  that  it  inhabits,  shall  dissolve, 
And  likfe  the  baseless  fabric  yf  a  vision, 
ll^ave  not  a  wreck  behind.' 


18i2  (:>^imax,  or  Amplification, 

S28.  The  effect  of  this  figure  is  peculiarly  pleasant,  when 
the  gradation  of  the  sentiment  is  denoted  by  members, 
which  rise  with  an  analogous  swell  in  point  of  sound  ;  and 
in  this  view  the  following  examples  from  Cicero  have  much 
merit. 

ExOmpIe.  Speaking  of  the  power  of  language,  in  the  first  book  Dc 
Oratore  : 

'*  Quae  vis  alia  potuit,  aut  disperses  homines  unum  in  locmn  congre- 
gare  ;  aut  a  fera  agrestique  vila  ad  hunc  humanum,  cultiiin,  civilem- 
que  deducerc  ;  aut  jam  constitutis  ciwtatibus,  leges,  judicia,  jura  de- 
scribere  " 

329.  Examples  are  sometimes  found  of  an  anti-climax, 
that  is,  of  a  gradation  downward  in  the  sentiment  ;  and  if 
fhe  expression  also  present  a  correspondent  descent  in  the 
sound,  the  sentence  will  possess  uncommon  merit. 

Example.  Horace  affords  a  pertinent  and  curious  instance  in  tlie 
follouing  line  : 

»*  P»rturiunt  montet,  nascetut  ridictilus  mus." 

Analysis.  The  sinking  in  the  sentiment,  from  the  labour  of  the  moun- 
tain to  the  birt/i  of  the  m^use,  is  admirably  imitated  by  a  siiuilar  ex- 
pression of  the  words.  The  rcr6,  the  most  dignified  word  both  in  mean- 
ing and  sound,  is  placed  first,  contrary  to  the  common  arrangement. 
The  merit  of  the  ivords,  in  point  of  sound ^  decreases  to  the  last,  which  is 
the  most  diminutive  in  the  sentence,  partly  on  account  of  its  being  a 
monosyllable,  and  almost  a  repetition  of  the  l.ist  syllable  of  the  prece- 
ding w  ord,  but  chiefly  on  account  of  the  contrast  between  the  insignifi- 
iince  of  the  irord.  ami  the  dip:nily  of  the  situation  it  occupies. 

330.  Climax  appears  with  grace  in  the  calmer  parts  of 
oratory,  in  essays,  and  in  all  compositions  which  address 
tlie  imagination,  but  attempt  not  much  to  interest  the  pas- 
sions. 

Illus.  It  is  en»ployed  by  the  orator  with  advantage,  in  impressing  the 
hearers  with  strong  conceptions  of  a  cause  ;  in  procuring  favour  to  the 
argument  he  espouses  )  or  in  exciting  disapprobation  of  that  of  his 
lutagonlst.  It  is  also  convenient  in  communicating  sentiments  that 
've  striking  or  sublime,  but  it  is  too  artificial  to  express  any  high  de- 
•  rce  of  passion.  '1  he  time  and  reflection  necessary  to  arrange  the  sen- 
iments  according  to  their  importance;  the  minute  attention  requisite 
o  form  the  expression  corresponding  to  the  elevation  of  the  thought^ 
iie  all  operations  of  a  coojposetl  frame  of  mind,  very  different  front 
hat  tumultuary  state  which  is  the  attendant  of  violent  passion. 

331.  It  is,  however,  consistent  with  moderate  agitation  ; 
and  accordingly  Longinus  takes  notice  of  the  utility  of  it  in 
managing  a  low  degree  of  passion  with  address.  In  this 
case,  however,  the  artificial  arrangement  of  the  words  is  re- 
linquished. The  swelling  passion  seizes  the  expressions 
most  proper  to  denote  it,  and  the  phraseology  is  altogether 
artless.     The  best  tragedies  afford  examples. 


Antithesis,  183 

Exarjlple  1.  Oronooko  thus  nttrrs  his  recollection  of  past  happiness  : 
"  Can  you  raise  the  dead  ? 
Pursue  and  overtake  the  wings  of  time? 
And  brinx  about  again  the  hours,  the  days, 
I'he  years  that  made  me  happy  ?" 

2.  Almeria,  in  the  Mourning^  Bride,  expresses  a  similar  sentiment  ih 
u  similar  manner  : 

"  How  hast  thou  charm'd 
I'he  wildnesi  of  the  w  ares  and  rocks  to  this  ? 
That  thus  relenting,  tht  >  have  given  ther  back 
To  earth,  to  light  and  life,  tp  love  and  me." 

3.  Another  example  in  the  same  trag:edy  exhibits  a  beautiful  picture 
of  the  gradual  influence  of  passion,  in  prompting  the  mind  to  believe 
what  it  wishes  to  be  true. 

''  I>et  me  not  stir  nor  breathe.  lest  I  dissolve 
That  tender  lovely  form  of  painted  air, 
So  like  Almeria.     Ha  !    it  sinks,  it  tails. 
I'll  catch  it  'itv  it  goes,  and  grasp  her  shade ; 
'Tis  life,  'tis  wai-m,  'tis  she,  His  she  herself." 

Jinalysis.  Tiie  apparition  is  first  painted  air,  and  has  some  resem- 
blance to  Ahnoria.  It  descends,  and  appears  to  be  seizcabie.  It  gels 
Jife,  aaimal  life,  it  is  "  she  herself." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THB    ANTITHESIS. 

332.  AS  the  design  of  a  climax  is  to  improve  our  concep- 
tions of  an  object,  by  placing  it  at  the  head  of  a  rising  series  ; 
so  the  business  of  antithp:sis  is  to  produce  a  simihir  eftect, 
by  placing  one  object  in  opposition  to  anotlier  of  the  same 
kind. 

Illus.  1.  Comparison  is  one  of  the  capital  operations  which  the  un- 
derstanding- performs  upon  its  ideas,  and  is  a  prelude  to  the  arrange- 
ment of  them  in  different  classes,  or  the  deducting  from  them  impor- 
tant conclusions.  When  we  communicate  our  thoughts,  or  hear,  or 
read  the  thoughts  of  others,  we  receive  pleasure,  if  similar  ideas  are 
exhibited  in  similar  expression,  and  dissimilar  ideas  in  contrasted  ex- 
pression ;  and  in  all  cases  of  the  latter  kind,  aniilhtsis  is  the  most  na- 
tural and  proper  phraseology.  Antithesis  possesses  ail  the  advantages 
of  climax  or  auipUiication,  with  which  different  things  of  the  same  kind 
impress  the  mind  when  placed  in  juxta-position  ;  and  it  adds  to  these 
the  pleasures  derivable ^f'roni  unexpected  differiuice  and  surprise.  Pe- 
riods constructed  to  denote  by  their  arrangement  these  oppositions  of 
the  thought,  are  generally  the  most  agreeable,  as  well  as  the  most  per- 
spicuous. They  possess  the  original  light  derived  from  the  natural 
melody  and  propriety  of  the  words  ;  and  they  are  further  illuminate*! 
by  the  additional  rays  reflected  from  their  contrasted  members.  (Arli 
212.  Ex.  and  Anal.) 


;  84  Antithesia* 

2.  The  same  rule  must  be  observed  in  the  use  of  antithesis  wkicu 
was  found  necessary  in  good  comparisons  resulting  from  contrast. 
They  must  take  place  between  tbinj^s  of  the  same  species.  Sub.^trtfi' 
Hves,  atfributes,  qualities,  faculties  eft  fie  same  kitidy  must  be  set  in  oppo- 
sitioji.  To  constitute  an  antithesis  between  a  man  and  a  lion,  riicue 
and  hunger,  a  figure  and  a  colour,  would  be  to  form  a  contrast  where 
there  was  no  opposition.  But  to  contrast  one  man  with  another^  virtues 
with  virtues,  figures  with  figures,  is  pertinent  and  proper^  because  in 
these  cases  there  may  be  striking  opposition. 

Example  1.  Lord  Bolingbroke  furnishes  the  following  beautiful  ex- 
ample :  *'  If  Cato  may  be  censured,  severely  indeed,  but  justly,  for 
abandoning  the  cause  of  liberty,  which  he  would  not,  however,  survive; 
what  shall  be  say  of  those,  who  embrace  it  faintly,  pursue  it  irresolute- 
ly, grow  tired  of  it  when  they  have  much  to  hope,  and  give  it  up  when 
they  have  nothing  to  fear  P'' 

Analysis.  The  capital  antithesis  of  this  sentence  is  instituted  between 
the  zeal  of  Ca.to  for  liberiij,  and  the  indifference  of  some  others  of  her 
patrons.  Cato  abandoned  liberty,  but  he  would  not  live  without  her  ; 
and  even  with  all  this  merit  he  deserved  censure.  How  dift'erent  the 
conduct  of  other  politicians,  who  pretend  attachment  to  her,  though 
they  are  never  resolute  to  support  her  ;  who,  instead  of  risking  incon- 
venience or  detriment,  relax  their  eftbrts  when  they  may  hope  for  suc- 
cess, and  relinquish  them  when  they  have  no  danger  to  apprehend 
But,  besides  the  leading  antithesis,  there  are  two  subordinate  ones  in 
the  latter  member  :  *'  Grow  tired  of  it  when  they  have  much  to  hope, 
and  give  it  up  when  they  have  nothing  to  fear."  The  chief  fault  of 
this  example  is  the  neglect  of  opposition  io  the  construction  of  the 
members  which  denote  the  contrast. 

Example  2.  This  species  of  merit  is  discernable  in  other  quotations 
from  the  same  author.  ''  He  can  bribe,  but  he  cannot  seduce  ;  he  caa 
buy,  but  he  cannot  gain  ;  he  can  lie,  but  he  cannot  deceive." 

Example  3.  Speaking  of  the  materials  of  his  Letters  on  Patriotigm  : 
**  The  anecdotes  here  related  were  true,  and  the  reflections  made  on 
them  were  just,  many  years  ago.  The  former  would  net  have  been 
felated,  if  he  who  related  them  had  not  known  them  to  be  true  ;  nor 
the  latter  have  been  made,  if  he  who  made  them  had  not  known  them 
to  be  just ;  and  if  they  were  true  and  just  then,  they  must  be  true  aud 
just  now,  and  always." 

333.  Antithesis  makes  the  most  brilliant  appearance  in 
the  delineation  of  characters,  particularly  in  history. 

Illus.  The  historian,  in  the  performance  of  this  delicate  part  of  his 
tasi,  has  a  good  opportunity  of  displaying  his  discernment  and  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature,  and  of  distinguishing  those  nice  shades  by 
which  virtues  and  vices  run  into  one  another.  It  is  by  such  colours 
only  that  a  character  can  be  strongly  painted,  and  antithesis  is  neces- 
sary to  denote  these  distinctions. 

Example.  Pope's  character  of  Atticus,  supposed  to  be  Addison.  di«. 
*ated  by  the  keenest   resentment  against  the  improper  part  \>hich  the 
essayist  was  then  represented  to  have  acted  relative  to  the  translatioijk 
f  Homer,  is  an  exaaipk  that  cannot  fail  to  attract  attention. 

"  Should  such  a  man.  too  fond  to  rule  a)one. 
Wear,  like  a  Turk,  no  brother  near  his  throne  j 
Vie*  him  with  scorntui    \ '^t  with  jtaious  eyea^ 
And  hate  \'m  juts  that  caus'd  himself  to  rise^ 


Antithesis.  185 

^mn  with  faint  praise.  |  assent  with  civil  leer. 
And  without  sneering  teach  the  r^st  to  sneer, 
WilHng  to  wound,  |1  and—yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  fault,  ||  and—liesitate  dislike ; 
Alike  resolved  to  blame,  or  to  comniRnd, 
A  tiii.orous  foe,  I|  and— a  suspicious  friend  ; 
threading  e'en  fools,  1|  by  flatterers  besieic^, 
•  And  so  obliging,  \\  that  he  ne'er  obliged. 

Who  would  not  smile,  if  such  a  man  there  be? 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  Aiticus  were  be  T^* 

334.  The  beauty  oi genuine  anfiihesis  is  so  considerable, 
that  we  cannot  wonder  that  many  unsuccessful  attempts 
have  been  made  to  acquire  it.  Lord  Bolingbroke,  though 
frequently  happy  in  the  use  of  it,  is  sometimes  unfortunate. 

Example  1.  His  Treatise  on  Patriotism  contains  the  subsequent  ex- 
ample : 

^'  Eloquence  that  leads  mankind  by  the  ears,  gives  a  nobler  superi- 
ority- than  power,  which  every  dunce  may  use  ;  or  than  fraud,  which 
every  knave  may  employ,  to  lead  men  by  the  nose." 

Jinalysis.  The  antithesis  is  instituted  between  leading  men  by  the 
€ars'\^\ch  is  the  business  of  eloquence^  and  leading  them  by  the  nose^ 
which  is  said  to  be  the  offi.ce  of  power  or  fraud.  That  eloquence  should 
Joad  by  the  ears,  is  natural  and  intelligible,  but  where  is  the  connec- 
tion between  fraud  or  power  and  the  nose  ?  To  make  out  the  figure, 
the  author  is  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  a  vulgar  and  metaphorical 
sense  of  the  words  "  leading  by  the  nose,"  in  which  they  denote  lead- 
ing in  an  ignominious  manner,  without  conviction.  Deny  this  re- 
source, and  the  antithesis  vanishes,  or  consists  merely  in  words. 

Example  %  Shakespeare,  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice,  furnishes  an- 
other instance  merely  verbal :  "  A  light  wife  doth  make  a  heavy  hus- 
band." 

Analysis.  There  is  in  the  thought  not  only  no  opposition,  but  on 
the  contrary,  a  very  close  connection,  that  of  cause  and  effect ;  be- 
cause it  is  the  folly  of  the  wife  which  produces  the  dejection  of  the 
husband.  Put  words  significant  of  these  ideas  instead  of /?g^/ and 
heavy y  and  the  shadow  of  a  figure  vanishes — "  A  foolish  wife  afflicts  a 
good  husband." 

335.  A  climax  and  antithesis  are  sometimes  conjoined 
and  carried  on  through  several  sentences. 

Example.  Thus  Pope,  in  the  Essay  on  Man : 

«  Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  blest  abodes, 

MEN  would  be  ANGELS,  j|  ANGELS  would  be  |!:ods; 
Aspiring  to  be  GODS,  |1  if  ANGi .LS  ftll. 
Aspiring  to  be  ANGELS,  ^  MEN  rebel." 

Scholium.  No  figure  has,  perhaps,  been  so  anxiously  sought,  and 
I  "with  so  little  success,  as  antithesis.  It  is  much  suited  to  impose  on  an 
j  unskilful  reader.  An  author  is  very  apt  to  employ  it,  who  abounds  not 
I  with  tolid  and  important  matter.  Many  readers  consider  the  surprize 
I  and  brilliancy  it  presents  as  certain  marks  of  genius  ;  and  they  are  in- 
\  clincd  to  believe  that  they  have  been  amused  and  instructed,  because 
i  they  have  been  made  to  wonder.  It  is  not  easy  in  an  enlightened  age 
to  shine  in  writing,  by  solidity  and  novelty  of  matter,  and  by  siroplici- 

*  Prologue  to  the  Satire.  ^ 


186  Interr&gatim* 

ty  and  elegance  of  manner.  Much  reading:,  much  reflection,  mncli 
practice,  and  much  irksome  criticism,  must  be  employed  before  this 
important  end  can  be  attained.  Authors  who  possess,  perhaps,  some 
feniun,  seem  to  wigh  to  lake  a  shorter  path  to  fame  ;  and  to  compen- 
sate for  the  slightnesi  of  their  matter,  X.\\cy  endeavour  to  dazzle  by  the 
smartness  of  their  style  ;  and  if  we  may  judge  from  the  history  of  an- 
cient literature,  an  attachment  to  ornaments  of  this  sort,  forms  the  first 
stage  toward  the  corruption  of  taste. 


CHAPTER  X. 


INTERROGATIOX,  REPETITION,  EXCLAMATION,  IRONY,  AND 
VISION. 

33G.  INTERROGATION.  The  unfigureil  and  literal 
use  of  interrojKjatioTi  is  to  ask  a  question  ;  but  when  m#n  are 
stron«»;ly  niove<l,  whatever  they  would  afiirin  or  deny,  with 
great  earnestness,  they  naturally  put  in  the  form  of  a  ques- 
tion. The  stronj^est  confidence  is  thereby  expressed  of 
their  own  sentiment,  by  appealing  to  their  hearers  for  the 
impossibility  of  the  contrary. 

Example.  Thus  Balaam  expressed  himself  to  Balak.  "  The  Lord 
is  not  a  man  that  he  should  lie,  neither  the  son  of  man  that  he  should 
repent,  Haih  he  said  it  r*  and  shall  he  not  do  it  ?  Hath  he  spoken  it  ? 
and  shall  he  not  make  it  good  ?" 

337.  Interrogation  gives  life  and  spirit  to  discourse. 

ExamjiU.  We  have  an  illustration  of  this  position  in  the  animated, 
introductory  speech  of  Cicero  against  Catdine.  ''  How  long  will  you, 
Catiline,  abuse  our  patience  ?  Do  you  not  perceive  that  your  designs 
are  discovered  ?" 

Analysis.  He  might  have  said,  "  You  abuse  our  patience  «  long 
while.  You  must  be  senjjible  that  your  designs  are  discovered."  But 
it  is  easy  to  perceive  how  much  this  latter  mode  of  expression  falls 
short  of  the  force  and  vehemence  of  the  former. 

338.  Interrogation  may  be  used  to  rous^  and  awaken  the 
hearers. 

Example.  Demosthenes,  addressing  hims<'If  to  the  Athenians,  asks 
them  :  "  Tell  me,  will  you  still  u'O  about,  and  ask  one  another  what 
newt  f  What  can  be  more  astonishing  news  than  this,  that  the  man  of 
Macedon  makes  war  upon  the  Athenians,  and  disposes  of  the  afTairs  of 
Greece?  Is  Philip  dead  ?  No:  but  he  is  sick.  What  signifies  it  to 
Tou  whsth'^r  he  bo  dead  or  alive  ?  For,  if  any  thing  happens  to  this 
riiilip,  you  will  iinniediatcly  raise  up  another." 

,'innly.n^.  All  this  delivered  without  inttrrogadoriy  had  b^en  faint  and 
inenVctual  ;  but  the  warmth  and  eagcrnetis  which  this  questioning  me- 
thod expressps,  werf»  calculated  to  awaken  the  Athrntaus  to  a  senae  of 
4heir  supinencssj  and  strike  them  with  much  greater  force  on  the  felly 


Repetition.      Exclamation,  18r 

lif  disunion  immediately  raising  up  another  Philip.  Again,  their  tim- 
plicity  about  the  news  of  Philip's  health  is  excellently  exposed  in  the 
question,  '<  Is  he  dead  ?"  And  the  hope  of  safely  expressed  by  the  per- 
son to  whom  such  a  question  was  put  by  his  neighbour,  is  most  hu- 
morously satirized  in  the  answer  :  ^^  No  ;  but  he  is  sick." 

339.  Interrogation  sometimes  commands  with  great  em- 
phasis. 

Example.  Thus  Dido, enjoining  the  departure  of^neas  to  be  stopped 

"  Non  arma  expedient,  totaque  ex  urbe  sequentur  ? 
Deripientque  rates  alii,  nuvalibus  ?" 

340.  Interrogation  sometimes  A^noi^?>  plaintive  passion. 

Example.  Thus  Almeria,  in  the  Motirning  Bride  : 

"  Alphonso!  O  Alphonso  ! 
Thou  too  art  quiet,  long  liast  thou  been  at  rest  ! 
Both,  father  and  son.  are  now  jio  more. 
Then  why  am  I?  O  when  shall  I  have  rest  ? 
Why  do  I  live  to  say  you  aiv  no  more  ? 
Is  it  of  moment  to  tin-  i>eace  of  heaven, 
Tkat  1  should  be  afflicted  thus  ?" 

341.  Repetition  seizes  some  emphatical  word  or  phrase, 
and,  to  mark  its  importance,  makes  it  recur  frecjuentlj  in 
the  same  sentence.     It  is  significant  of  contrast  and  energy. 

Example  1.  It  also  marks  passion,  which  wishes  to  dwell  on  the  ob- 
ject by  which  it  is  excited.  Virgil  pathetically  describes  the  grief  of 
Orpheus  for  the  loss  of  Eurydice,  in  the  fourth  Georgic  : 

"  Te  dulcis  conjux,  te,  solo  in  littore  secnm, 
Te,  veniente  die,  te,  decedente  «antbat." 

So  also  Catullns,  de  Passere  mortuo  Lesbm  . 

'•  Passer  raortuus  est  meae  Puellae, 
Passer  deliciae  meae  puellai. 
Quent  plus  ilia  oculis  suis  amabat." 

2.  Pope,  to  heighten  compassion  for  the  fate  of  an  unfortunate  lady, 
reiterates  tlie  circumstance  of  her  being  deprived  in  her  distress  of  tho 
r|5ympathy  of  her  friends  : 

**  By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were  closet!, 
By  oreign  hands  thy  decent  limbs  composed  ; 
Bj  foreign  hands  thy  humble  grave  adorned, 
By  strangers  honoured  and  by  strang»-rs  mourned.'^ 

3.  Dryden,  in  A4exander's  Feast,  supplies  one  of  the  most  beantiful 
examples  of  this  figure.  He  thus  paints  the  sad  reverse  of  tbrtuno  suf 
/ered  by  Darius: 

"  Deserted,  at  his  greatest  need, 
By  those  his  former  bounty  fed. 
He  sung  Darius,  great  and  good, 

Ba  too  sevtrt  a  fate. 
Fallen,  fallm,  tallen,  fallen. 
Fallen  from  his  high  estate,  aud  weltering  in  his  blood." 

342.  Exclamations  are  the  effect  of  .strong  emotions  of 
the  mind ;  such  as  surprise,  admiration,  joy,  grief ,  artd  the 
like. 

17 


183  Piston. 

Illus.  1.  Exclamation,  like  interrogation,  is  often  prompted  by  ijts^ 
pathy.  Sympathy  is  a  very  powerful  and  extensive  principle  in  our 
nature,  disposing  us  to  enter  into  every  feeling  and  passion,  which  we 
behold  expressed  by  others.  Hence  a  single  person  coming  into  com- 
pany with  strong  marks,  either  of  melancholy  or  joy,  upon  his  counte- 
nance, will  diffuse  that  passion  in  a  moment  through  the  whole  circle. 
Hence  in  a  great  crowd,  in  an  tusembly  of  people  on  some  public  and 
pressing  emergency,  pJissions  are  so  easily  caught,  and  so  rapidly 
spread,  by  that  powerful  contagion  which  the  animated  looks,  and 
cries,  and  gestures  of  a  ruiltilude  never  fail  to  impart. 

2.  I  shall  take  the  liberty  to  give  one  instance,  which  is  known  to  all, 
and  well  calculated  lo  illustrate  the  figure  now  under  consideration. 
Turn  with  me,  reader,  turn  thy  mind  back  to  the  morniag^on  which  we 
heard  it  announcetl  that  her  royal  highness  princess  Charlotte  of  Saxe 
Cobourg  was  no  more  !  Have  yon  heard  ihe  news  ?  said  every  Brit- 
on to  his  friend.  News  ?  what  news  .'  The  princess  Charlotte's  dead  I 
Dead  I  the  princess  Charlotte  dead  I  did  ye  say  ^  Yes  !  and  her  in- 
fant son  too.  Good  God  !  both  mother  and  son  !  Such  was  the  lan- 
guage of  our  heart — such  the  species  of  interrogation,  repetition,  txcla- 
tnation,  which  we  used  that  doleful  morn. 

Scholium.  Though  inierroi^ntions  may  be  introduced  into  close  and 
earnest  reasonings,  exclamatiojis  only  belong  to  strong  emotions  of 
ttiind.  When  judiciously  employed,  they  agitate  the  hearer  or  the 
reader  with  similar  passions  ;  but  it  is  extremely  improper,  and  some- 
times ridiculous,  to  use  them  on  trivial  occasion?,  and  on  mean  and 
low  subjects.  The  unexperienced  writer  often  attempts  to  elevate  his 
language,  by  the  copious  display  of  this  figure  ;  but  it  is  seldom  that 
he  succeeds.  He  frequently  renders  his  composition  frigid  to  excess, 
or  absolutely  ludicrous,  by  calling  on  us  to  enter  into  his  transports, 
when  nothing  is  said  or  done  to  demand  emotion. 

343.  Vision,  another  figui*e  of  speech,  proper  only  in  an- 
imated and  warm  compositions,  is  produced  when,  instead 
of  relating  something  that  is  past,  we  use  the  present  tense 
of  the  verb,  and  describe  an  action  or  event  as  actually 
passing  before  our  eyes. 

Example.  Thus  Cicero,  in  his  fourth  oration  against  Catiline^  pic- 
tures to  his  mind  the  execution  of  the  conspiracy  :  '*  1  seem  to  myself 
to  behold  this  city,  the  ornament  of  the  earth,  and  the  capital  of  all 
>iations,  suddenly  involved  in  one  conflagration.  I  see  before  me  the 
slaughtered  heaps  of  citizens,  lying  unbuiied  in  the  midst  of  their  ruin- 
od  country.  The  furious  countenance  of  Cethegus  rises  to  my  view, 
'.vhile  with  a  savage  joy,  he  is  triumphing  iu  your  miseries."* 

Scholium.  This  manner  of  description  supposes  a  sort  of  enthusiasm, 
which  carries  the  person  who  describes,  in  some  measure,  out  of  him- 
self;  and  when  well  executed,  must  needs,  by  the  force  of  sympathy, 
impress  the  reader  or  hearer  very  strongly.  But  in  order  to  be  suc- 
cessful, it  requires  an  uncommonly  warm  imagination,  and  such  a  hap- 
py selection  of  circumstances,  which  shall  make  us  think  that  we  see 
i)cfore  our  eyes  the  scene  that  is  described. 

•  "  Videor  enim  mihi  banc  urbem  videre,  lucem  orbis  terrarura  atque  arcem  omni- 
um gentiunv  subito  uno  incendio  concidentem ;  cerno  animo  sepulta  in  patriamisrros 
atqne  insepultos  aspectus  Cetbegi,  et  furor,  in  vestra  coede  bacduintis." 


Irony.  189 

S44.  Ill  tragedy,  vision  is  the  language  of  the  most  vio- 
lent pa^^sion,  which  conjures  up  spectres,  and  approaches  to 
insanity, 

example  1.  The  author  of  Phaedra  and  Hyppolitus  makes  the  for*- 
mer  address  the  latter  in  the  following  strain  : 

«  Then  why  this  strain  ?  Come,  let  us  plunge  together. 
See,  Hell  sets  wide  its  adamantine  gates ! 
See.  through  the  sable  gates,  the  black  Cocytus, 
In  smoky  whirls,  rolls  its  fiery  waves  ! 
How  huge  Megara  stalks  ! 
Now,  DOW,  she  drags  me  to  the  bar  of  Minos," 

2.  The  horrors  of  the  mind  of  Macbeth,  after  murdering  the  kin^ 
and  Banquo,  are  artfully  and  forcibly  painted  by  the  same  figure  : 

*'  Methought  I  heard  a  voice 

Cry,  sleep  no  more  I  Macbeth,  doth  murder  sleep," 

3.  He  is  still  more  violently  distracted,  and  fancies  he  sees  the  ghost 
#f  the  murdered  king  : 

'*  Avaunt,  and  quit  my  sight ! 
Let  the  earth  hide  thee  ;  thy  bones  are  marrowless, 
Thy  blood  is  cold  ;  thou  hast  no  si>eeulatioa 
In  those  eyes  which  thou  dost  stare  with. 
Hence,  horrible  sliadow ;  unreal  mockery,  hence.'* 

345.  Irony.  When  we  express  ourselves  in  a  manner 
contrary  to  our  thoughts,  not  with  a  view  to  deceive,  but  tt) 
add  force  to  our  observations,  we  are  then  said  to  speak 
ironically. 

Illus.  Irony  turns  things  into  ridicule,  in  a  peculiar  manner  ;  it  con- 
sists in  laughing  at  a  man.  under  the  disguise  of  appearing  to  praise  or 
.  speak  well  of  him. 

Example.  '■'■  By  these  methods,  in  a  few  weeks,  there  starts  up  many 
a  writer,  capable  of  managing  the  profoundest  and  most  universal  sub- 
jects. For  what,  though  his  head  be  empty,  provided  his  common- 
place book  be  full  ?  And  if  you  will  bate  him  but  the  circumstauces 
of  method,  and  style,  and  grammar,  and  invention  ;  allow  him  hut  the 
common  privileges  of  transcribing  from  others,  and  digressing  from 
himself,  as  often  as  he  shall  see  occasion,  he  will  desire  no  more  in- 
gredients towards  fitting  up  a  treatise,  that  shall  make  a  very  comely 
figure  on  a  bookseller's  shelf,  there  to  be  preserved  neat  and  clean,  for 
a  long  eternity,  adorned  with  the  heraldry  of  its  title,  fairly  described 
on  the  label  ;  never  thumbed  or  greased  by  students,  nor  bound  to 
everlasting  chains  of  darkness  in  a  library  ;  but  when  the  fulness  of 
time  is  come,  shall  happily  undergo  the  trial  of  purgatory,  in  order  to 
ascend  the  sky."* 

346.  The  subjects  of  irony,  are  vices  and  follies  of  all 
kinds  ;  and  this  mode  of  exposing  them  is  often  more  ef- 
fectual than  serious  reasoning:. 

Illus.  The  gravest  persons  have  not  disdained  to  use  this  figure  on 
proper  occasions. 

Example  1.  Thus  Elijah  challenged  the  priests  of  Baal  to  prove  the 


I 


♦  Tale  of  a  Tub,  Sect.  7. 


i  90  Irony. 

troth  of  their  deity.  **  Cry  aloud,  for  he  is  a  g©d  :  either  he  is  taui^ 
ing-,  or  he  is  pursuing,  or  he  is  in  a  journey,  or  peradventure  he  sleep- 
eth,  and  must  be  awakened." 

2.  To  reprove  a  person  for  his  negligence  one  might  say,  **  You  hare 
taken  great  care  indeed." 

347.  £xclamations  and  irony  are  sometimes  united. 

Example.  Thus  both  arc  united  in  Cicero's  oration  for  Balbus,  where 
the  orator  derides  his  accuser,  6y  saying,  **  O  exceJh^nt  interpreter  of 
the  law  !  master  of  aniiquity  !  correcter  and  amender  of  our  constitu- 
tion !" 

Scholiovi.  Besides  these,  there  are  several  other  figures,  partly 
^ran»matical  and  partly  rhetorical  ;  but  as  an  account  of  them  would 
be  attended  with  little  instruction,  and  less  amusement,  we  shall  refer 
tho<e  who  may  be  led  farther  into.this  field,  to  the  writings  of  the  an- 
cient critics,  where  they  will  find  them  explained.  It  only  remains  to 
point  out  the  general  principW?s  which  should  guide  our  practice  in  the 
use  of  figures  ;  and  this  is  a  matter  of  greater  importance,  as  errors  in 
this  article  are  very  common,  and  as  young  writers  particularly  arc 
apt  to  entertain  improper  notions  of  such  ornaments. 

348.  Remember  that  the  first  law  of  good  writing,  is  to 
attend  principally  and  closely  to  the  matter ;  and  that  even 

■■\e  highest  ornament  is  of  much  inferior  consideration. 

Ilhis.  Good  sense,  dressed  in  plnin  language,  will  always  gain  ap- 
probation ;  though  ornament  may  add  to  its  impression,  it  can  never 
supply  its  place.  A  figurative  style,  without  important  matter,  may 
dazzle  and  captivate  the  untutored  mind,  and  procure  a  temporary 
reputation  ;  but  reason  and  truth  will,  in  time,  triumph  over  prejudice 

n<l  shoM',  and  consign  to  oblivion  such  ill-supperted  claims  to  fame. 
Sunt  qui  neglecto  rerum  pondere,"  says  Quinctilian,  "  et  viribussen- 

t  ntiarum,  si  vcl  inaniu  verba  in  figuras  depravarint,  summos  se  judi- 

(  at  artifices  ;  ideoque  uon  desinunt  eas  nectere  ;  quas  sine  sententia 
M  rtari,  tarn  est  ridiculum,  quam  qua^rere  habitum  gestumque  sine  cor- 

lore." 

349.  Figures  should  never  have  the  appearance  of  being 
.inxiously  sought,  or  of  being  forced  into  the  service  of  a 
MTiter. 

Illus.  Affectation  is  the  bane  of  beauty  on  all  occasions,  but  particu- 
larly ill  composition.  If  attention  to  ornament  cannot  be  concealed,  it 
had  better  be  relinquished.  The  appearance  of  art  will  injure  reputa- 
fioTi  more  with  every  reader  of  taste,  than  that  reputation  could  be 
promoted  by  the  most  successful  use  of  figures. 

350.  As  figures  should  not  be  anxiously  sought,  so  neither 
should  they  be  lavishly  employed.  Ornaments  of  all  sorts 
interfere  with  elegance,  unless  applied  with  taste.  In  liter- 
ary compositions  they  may  serve  to  display  a  richness  of 
mind,  they  may  impart  a  gaudy  semblance,  and  may  evi- 
dence a  bold  imagination,  but  they  will  never  strike  with 
the  charms  of  genuine  beauty.  If^  on  the  other  hand,  dis- 
cernment be  discovered  in  the  use  of  them,  if  they  are  mtror 


Irony. 


t9l 


duced  with  mofieration,  and  communicate  real  and  perma- 
nent delight,  they  will  be  sure  to  gain  approbation. 

Illus.  The  ornaments  of  writing  particularly,  are  of  a  nature  so  re- 
fined, that  the  richest  imagination  cannot  .always  supply  them  5  nor 
can  the  reader  continue  long-  to  relish  them.  They  are  like  delicacies 
of  the  palate,  they  sooner  pall  upon  the  taste  tl)a»i  ordinary  food. 
Figures  too  closely  interspersetf,  intt-rfere  wi<h  their  own  impression; 
they  exhaust  the  sensibility  of  the  imagination  by  too  frequent  exer- 
tion ;  and  they  excite  disgust  by  attempt! tig  too  nuuh  to  p  rase. 

351.  An  author  should  not  attempt  H;^ure.H  without  being 
prompted  by  his  imagination.  He  will  readily  disco vtr, 
whether  he  has  received  from  nature  any  consiJeraoie  jmr- 
tion  of  this  lively  faculty,  by  the  relish  he  ent*^rtaiijb  for 
works  of  genius,  toward  the  composition  of  which  she  lias 
liberally  contributed. 

[llus.  1,  If  oratory  and  poetry  attract  his  attention,  and  communi- 
cate pleasure  ;  if  he  feel  inferior  gratification  in  peruising  productions 
of  science,  or  in  abstract  inquiry,  he  ha»  reason  to  conclude  he  is  en- 
dued with  some  share  of  the  mental  power  that  has  adorned  the  pro- 
ductions to  wliich  he  is  attached.  !f  he  t'eel  this  faculty  so  prevalent 
as  to  tin^-e  insensibly  the  colour  of  his  early  compositions,  he  may 
hope,  by  proper  culture,  to  attain  eminence  in  the  use  of  ornament. 

2^.  JtJut  without  such  favourable  presages,  ornament  ought  not  to  be 
attempted.  It  is  not  admissible  into  maay  reputable  species  of  com- 
position. It  is  rejected  in  the  greater  part  of  scientific  disquisitions. 
it  is  despised  by  some  writers  and  readers  ;  and  in  every  kind  of  com- 
position, except  poetry,  good  sense,  and  important  matter,  conveyed 
in  a  simple  and  natural  style,  will  be  entitled  to  high  praise.  They 
will  obtain  higher  praise  than  can  be  procured  by  attempting  orna- 
ment without  success. 

Finally.  Without  a  genius  for  figurative  language,  none  should  at- 
tempt it.  Imagination  is  a  power  not  to  be  acquired  ;  it  must  be  de- 
rived from  nature.  Its  redundances  we  may  prune,  its  deviations  we 
may  correct,  its  sphere  we  may  enlarge  :  but  the  faculty  itself  we  can- 
not create  ;  and  all  efforts  towards  a  metaphorical  ornamented  style, 
if  we  are  destitute  of  the  genius  proper  for  it,  will  prove  awkward  and 
disgusting.  Let  us  satisfy  ourselves,  however,  by  considering  that, 
without  this  talent,  or  at  least  with  a  veiy  small  measure  of  it,  we  may 
both  write  and  speak  to  advantage.  Good  sense,  as  has  been  said, 
clear  ideas,  perspicuity  of  language,  and  proper  arrangement  of  wor<ls 
and  thoughts,  will  always  comnmnd  attention.  These  are,  indeed,  the 
foundations  of  all  solid  merit  both  in  speaking  and  writing.  Many 
Subjects  require  nothing  more:  and  those  which  admit  of  ornament, 
adaiit  it  only  as  a  secondary  requisite.  To  study  and  to  know  our 
own  genius  well  ;  to  tbllovv  nature  ;  to  seek  to  improve,  but  not  to 
fo'ce  it  ;  arc  directions  which  cannot  be  too  often  ^iven  to  those  who 
liesire  to  excel  in  the  liberal  arts. 


17* 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  TASTE  AND  THE 
SOURCES  OF  ITS  PLEASURES. 


CHAPTER  I. 


3^.  TASTE  is  that  faculty  or  power  of  the  human  miiiJ, 
xvliich  is  always  appealed  to  in  disquisitions  concerning  the 
merit  of  discourse  and  writinj^  ;  it  is  the  power  of  receiving 
pleasure  from  the  beauties  of  nature  and  art. 

Ilhis  1.  The  word  taste,  under  this  metaphorical  meaning,  has  bor- 
rowed its  name  from   the  feeling   of  that   external  sense  by  which  wc 

oceive  and  distinguish  the  pleasures  of  food. 
2.  This  faculty  is  common,  in  some  degree,  to  all  men  ;  for  the  rel- 

h  of  beauty,  of  one  kind  or  other,  belongs  to  human  nature  generally. 

\  hatever  is  orderly,  proportioned,  grand,  harmonious,  new  or  spright- 
ty,  pleases  alike,  but  iu  diifercnt  degrees,  the  philosopher  and  the  peas- 
ant, the  child  and  the  savage.  Ilegular  bodies,  pictures,  and  statues, 
develope  in  children  the  rudiments  of  taste  ;  and  savages,  who  pride 
themselves  in  their  ornaments  of  dress,  tlieir  war  and  their  death 
^ons:s,  tiicir  harangues  and  their  orators,  evince  that  they  possess, 
with  the  attributes  of  reason  and  speech,  some  discernment  of  beauty, 
and  the  principles  of  taste,  deeply  founded  in  the  human  mind. 

S5S.  Taste  is  possessed  in  dift'erent  degrees  by  different 
men.  Its  feeble  glimmerings  appear  in  some;  in' others,  it 
rises  to  an  acute  discernment,  and  a  lively  enjoyment  of 
the  most  refined  beauties  :  the  former  have  but  a  weak  and 
confused  impression  of  this  power,  as  they  relish  only  beau- 
ties of  the  coarsest  kind  ;  the  latter  have  a  certain  natural 
and  instinctive  possession  of  this  faculty,  which  may  be  im- 
proved by  art,  and  which  discovers  itself  in  their  powers  and 
pleasures  of  taste. 

Obs.  This  inequality  is  partly  owing  to  the  different  frame  of  our 
]«atures,  to  nkrcr  organs,  and  finer  internal  poivers,  with  which  one-f? 


Tasie.  19.^ 

endowed  beyond  another  ;  but  still  more  to  education,  and  a  higher 
culture  of  those  talents,  which  belong  only  to  the  ornamental  part  of 
life. 

354.  Taste  is  an  improveable  faculty,  and,  refined  by 
education,  gives  to  civilized  men  an  immense  superiority 
above  barbarians,  and,  in  the  same  nation,  to  those  who  have 
studied  the  liberal  arts,  above  the  rude  and  untaught  vulgar. 

Obs.  Thus,  two  classes  of  men  are  far  removed  from  each  other,  in 
respect  to  the  powers  and  pleasures  of  taste  ;  and,  for  this  difference, 
no  other  general  cause  can  be  assigned,  than  culture  and  education. 

355.  Exercise  is  the  source  of  improvement  in  all  our 
faculties,  in  our  bodily,  in  our  mental  powers,  and  even  in 
our  external  senses. 

Illus.  1.  Touch  becomes  more  exquisite  in  men,  whose  employment 
leads  them  to  examine  the  polish  of  bodies,  than  it  is  in  others,  whose 
trade  engages  no  such  nice  exertions. 

2.  SiGHF,  in  discerning  the  minutest  objects,  acquires  a  surprising 
accuracy  in  microscopical  observers,  and  those  who  are  accustomed  to 
engrave  on  precious  stones. 

3.  Chemists,  by  attending  to  different  flavours  and  tastes  of  liquors^ 
wonderfully  improve  the  power  of  distinguishing  them  and  tracing 
llieir  composition. 

356.  Placing  internal  taste,  therefore,  on  the  footing  of  a 
simple  sense,  frequent  exercise,  and  curious  attention  to  its 
proper  objects,  must,  in  the  first  instance,  greatly  heighten 
its  power. 

Itlus.  1.  Thus,  nothing  is  more  improveable  than  that  part  of  taste, 
which  is  called  an  ear  for  music.  At  first,  the  simplest  and  plainest 
compositions  only  are  relished.  Our  pleasure  is  extended  by  use  and 
practice,  which  teach  us  to  relish  finer  melody,  and  by  degrees  enable 
us  to  enter  into  the  intricate  and  compound  pleasures  of  harmony. 

2.  So  an  eye  for  the  beauties  of  painting,  is  never  acquired  all  at 
once  ;  nor  by  him  who  prefers  the  Saracen's  head  upon  a  sign-post, 
before  the  best  tabulature  of  Raphael.  It  is  gradually  formed  by  be- 
ing conversant  among  pictures,  and  studying  the  works  of  the  best 
masters. 

3.  And  the  man  who  has  cultivated  the  beauties  of  regularity,  order, 
and  proportion,  in  Architecture,  will  never  prefer  a  rude  Gothic  tower, 
before  the  finest  Grecian  building. 

357.  Precisely  in  the  same  manner,  with  respect  to  the 
beauty  of  composition  and  discourse ,  attention  to  the  most 
approved  models,  study  of  the  best  authors,  comparisons  of 
lower  and  higher  degrees  of  the  same  beauties,  operate  to- 
wards the  refinement  of  taste. 

Illus.  The  sentiment  that  attends  a  reader's  first  acquaintance  with 
works  of  genius,  is  obscure  and  confused.  The  several  excellencies  or 
blemishes  of  the  performance  which  he  peruses,  cannot  be  pointed  out, 
because  he  is  at  a  loss  on  what  to  rest  his  judgment ;  but  allow  him 


194  Tasit, 

more  experience  of  the  subject,  and  his  taste  becoones  more  exact  an.* 
enlightened  :  the  character  of  the  whole  work,  the  beauties  and  defects 
of  each  part,  are  perceived,  and  his  praise  or  blame  is  at  length  pro- 
nounced firn»ly,  and  without  hesitation.  Thus,  in  taste,  considered  as 
mere  sensibility,  exercise  opens  a  great  source  of  improvement. 

358.  But  reason  and  good  sense  have  so  exteasive  an  in- 
fluence on  all  its  operations  and  decisions,  that  a  thorough 
gof)d  taste  may  well  be  considered  as  a  power  compounded 
of  natural  sensibility  to  beauty,  and  of  improved  under 
standing.     (Art,  365.) 

Illus.  1.  The  greater  part  of  the  productions  of  genius,  are  no  other 
than  imitations  of  nature  ;  representations  of  the  characters,  actions, 
or  manners  of  men.  The  pleasure  we  receive  from  such  fmitations,or 
representations,  is  founded  on  mere  taste  ;  but  to  judge  whether 
they  be  properly  executed,  belongs  to  the  understanding,  which  com- 
pares the  copy  with  the  o.iginal. 

2.  In  reading  such  a  poem  as  Paradise  Lost,  a  great  part  of  the 
pleasure  we  receive,  arises  from  the  plan  or  story  being  well  conduct- 
ed, and  all  the  parts  joined  together  with  due  connexion  ;  from  the 
characters,  being  suited  to  the  subject,  the  sentiments  to  the  characters^ 
and  th«  style  to  tU«*  sentiments. 

3.  We  feel  or  enjoy  by  taste,  as  an  inUrnnl  stnse,  the  pleasure  which 
arises  from  a  poem  so  conducted  ;  but  the  discovery  of  this  conduct  in 
the  poem,  is  owing  to  reason  ;  and  our  pleasure  will  be  the  greater, 
the  more  that  reast>n  enables  us  to  discover  such  propriety  in  the  con- 
du(t. 

4.  Our  natural  sense  of  beauty  yields  us  pleasure  ;  but  reason  ghew.s 
us  why,  and  upon  what  grounds,  we  are  pleased.  Whenever,  in  works 
of  «a<te,  any  resem»)l.i.jce  to  nature  is  aimed  at.  whenever  there  is  tiny 
ref<M'ence  of  parts  lo  a  whole,  or  of  means  to  an  end,  as  indeed  there 
is  in  almost  every  writing  and  discourse,  there  the  understanding  must 
always  have  a  great  part  lo  art. 

359.  A  SECOND,  and  a  very  considerable  source  of  the 
improvement  of  ta-jte,  arises  from  the  application  of  reason 
and  good  sense,  to  works  of  composition,  and  productions  of 
genius. 

fUus.  Spurious  beauties,  such  as  unnatural  characters,  forced  senti- 
ments, and  aftVcted  style,  may  please  for  a  little  ;  but  tiiey  please  only, 
because  we  have  not  examined  or  attended  to  th'ir  opnosition  to  nature 
and  good  sense.  The  illusion  is  dissipated,  and  these*  t'alsf  beauties 
cr  1^1^  to  please  as  soon  as  v*e  are  slicwn  how  natur<i  might  iiave  been 
mor-.  justly  imitated  or  represented,  and  how  the  writer  might  have 
BiauRged  his  subject  to  greater  advantage. 

360.  From  these  two  sources  then,  first,  the  frequent  ex- 
erciae  of  ia.^te,  and  next,  the  application  of  guud  sense  and 
reason  to  its  ohjccfs,  XASTJi,  as  a  power  of  the  mind,  receives 
its  improvement. 

Ohs.  In  its  i-crffct  state,  it  is  undoubtedly  tli«*  result  both  of  nature 
and  art.     it  supposes  our  natuml  sense  oi  btauty  to  be  rclined  by  ire- 


■  ^.^ 


Diversity  of  Taste.  \  95 

fiaent  attention  to  the  most  beautiful  objects,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
be  guided  and  improved  by  the  light  of  the  understanding. 

361.  One  material  requisite  to  a  just  taste,  besides  a 
sound  head,  is  a  good  heart  ;  for  moral  beauties,  in  them- 
selves superior  to  all  others,  exert  an  influence,  either  more 
nearly,  or  more  remotely,  on  a  great  variety  of  other  objects 
of  taste. 

Ulus.  The  affections,  characters,  and  actions  of  men,  frequently  af- 
fbrd  the  noblest  subjects  to  genius.  Without  possessing  the  virtuous 
affections,  no  man,  where  those  affections,  characters,  or  actions,  are 
concerned,  can  exhibit  their  just  and  touching  description,  nor  have  any 
thorough  feeling  of  the  beauty  of  that  description.  He  vrhose  heart  is 
indelicate  or  hard,  who  has  no  admiration  of  what  is  truly  noble  or 
praise-worthy,  nor  the  proper  sympathetic  sense  of  what  is  soft  and 
tender,  must  have  a  very  imperfect  relish  of  the  highest  beauties  of  elo- 
quence and  poetry. 

362.  Delicacy  and  Correctness  are  the  characters  of 
taste,  when  brought  to  its  most  improved  state. 

Ulus.  1.  Delicacy  of  taste  respects  principally  the  perfection  of  that 
natural  sensibility,  on  which  taste  is  founded.  It  implies  those  finer 
organs  or  powers,  which  enable  us  to  discover  beauties  that  lie  hid 
from  a  vulgar  eye.  A  person  of  delicate  taste,  both  feels  strongly,  and 
feels  accurately.  He  sees  distinctions  and  differences,  where  others 
see  none  ;  the  most  latent  beauty  does  not  escape  him,  and  he  is  sensi- 
ble of  the  smallest  blemish. 

2.  Correctness  of  taste  respects  chiefly  the  improvement  which  that 
faculty  receives  through  its  connexion  with  the  understRnding.  Coun- 
terfeit beauties  never  impose  on  a  man  of  correct  taste,  because  he 
carries  in  his  mind  that  standard  of  good  sense,  which  he  employs  in 
judging  of  every  thing. 

363.  Delicacy  of  taste  is  judged  of  by  marks  similar  to 
those  which  we  use  in  judging  of  the  delicacy  of  an  exter- 
nal sense. 

Ulus.  As  the  goodness  of  the  palate  is  not  tried  by  strong  flavours, 
but  by  a  mixture  of  ingredients,  in  which,  notwithstanding  the  confu- 
sion, we  reniCtin  sensible  of  each  ;  in  like  manner,  delicacy  of  interna! 
taste  appears,  by  a  quick  and  lively  sensibility  to  its  finest,  most  com- 
pounded, or  most  latent  objects. 

364.  Correctness  of  taste  is  judged  of  by  the  estimate 
which  a  man  makes  of  the  comparative  merit  of  several 
beauties,  which  he  meets  with,  iu  any  work  of  genius. 

Jllus.  When  he  refers  these  to  their  proper  classes,  assigns  with  pro- 
priety the  principles,  as  far  as  they  can  be  traced,  whence  their  povver 
of  pleasing  flows  ;  and  is  pleased  himself  in  that  degree,  in  which  he 
ought,  and  no  more  ;  we  say  that  his  taste  is  correct. 

365.  Delicacy,  and  correctness  of  taste,  mutually  imply 
each  other.  No  taste  can  be  exquisitely  delicate,  without 
being  correct ;  nor  thoroughly  correct,  without  being  defi 


19d  Diversity  of  TaUt, 

cate.    But  still  a  predominancy  of  the  one   or  the  other 
quality  in  the  mixture  is  often  visible. 

llUhs.  1.  The  power  of  delicacy  is  chiefly  seen  in  discerning^  the  true 
merit  of  a  work  ;  the  power  of  correctness,  in  rejertin^  false  preten- 
sions to  merit.  Delicacy  leans  more  to  feelinp"  ;  correftness,  more  to 
reason  andjudg-ment.  The  former  is  more  the  gi»t  of  nature  ^  the  lat- 
ter, more  the  product  of  cultur<'  atjd  art 

2.  Among  the  ancient  critics,  Longinus  posspssed  most  de]icacy ';  Ar- 
istotle, most  correctness.  Among  the  moderns,  Addiso»  is  -»  high  ex- 
ample of  delicate  taste  ;  and  hal  Dean  S^i^il.  wiiitfni  on  criticism,  he 
would  perhaps  have  atforded  iho  oxatriple  of  a  correct  one.  Campbell, 
Karnes,  Allison,  and  Dugaid  Sten  h  ■  t  m  •  »^v:...imI,.v  ..»  «/.,-ri .  *  :..,♦!  (irli- 
cate  taste. 

366.  The  DIVERSITY  of  w^w..,,  v,i..v,..  |.  v>...i.  ...nong 
mankind,  does  not  in  every  case  infer  a  corniption  of  taste, 
or  oblige  us  to  seek  for  some  standard,  m  order  to  deter- 
mine who  are  in  the  right. 

lllui.  The  tastes  of  men  may  differ  very  considerably  as  to  their  ob- 
ject, and  yet  none  of  them  be  wrung.  One  man  relishes  poetry,  while 
another  takes  plea.<iire  in  nothing  but  history.  One  prefers  comedy  \ 
another  tragedy.  One  admires  the  simple  ;  another,  the  ornamented 
style.  The  young  arc  amused  with  gay  and  sprightly  compositions  ; 
the  elderly  are  more  entertained  with  those  of  a  graver  cast.  Some 
nations  delight  in  bold  pictures  of  manners,  and  strong  representations 
of  passions  ;  others  incline  to  a  m.>re  correct  and  regular  elegance, 
both  in  description  and  sentiment.  Though  all  differ,  yet  all  pitch  up- 
on some  beauty  which  peculiarly  suits  their  turn  of  miud  ;  and  there- 
fore no  one  has  a  title  to  condemn  his  neighbour. 

367.  In  questions  of  mere  reason,  there  is  but  ont  conclu- 
Mon  that  can  be  true ;  and  there  is  some  foundation  for  the 
preference  of  one  man's  taste  to  that  of  another. 

Illus.  Truth,  which  is  the  object  of  reason,  is  ont  ;  beauty,  which  is 
the  object  of  taste,  is  manifold.  Taste,  therefore,  admits  of  latitude 
and  diversity  of  objects,  in  sufficient  consiktency  with  its  goodness  or 
justness. 

368.  This  admissible  diversity  of  tastes,  can  only  have 
place  where  the  objects  of  taste  are  different.  When  one 
condemns  as  ugly  what  another  admires  as  beautiful,  there 
is  no  longer  diversity,  but  direct  opposition  of  taste.  One 
must  be  right,  and  the  other  wrong. 

Illus.  1,  One  roan  prefers  Virgil  to  Homer  ;  another,  admires  Ho- 
mer more  than  Virgil  ;  yet  there  is  no  reason  to  say  that  their  tastes 
are  contradictory.  The  one  is  more  struck  with  the  elegance  and 
tenderness  of  Virgil ;  the  other  with  the  simplicity  and  fire  of  Homer. 
As  long  as  neither  of  them  denies  that  both  Homer  and  Virgil  have 
great  beauties,  their  difference  falls  within  the  compass  of  that  diver- 
sity of  tastes,  which  is  both  natural  and  allowable.     (Art.  366.) 

2.  But  if  a  third  man  should  assert  that  Homer  has  no  beauties; 
whatever,  and  that  Virgil  is  devoid  of  elegance  and  tandernesSj—that 


Standard  of  Taste.  197 

he  holds  the  One;  to  be  a  dull,  spiritless  writer,  »nd  the  other  to  be  a 
ttiere  copiest,  that  in  distinction  to  the  iEneid  he  won]  1  as  soon  peruse 
Robinson  Crusoe,  or  Jack  the  Giant  Killer  to  the  Iliad  ;  both  the  other 
men  woukl  pronounce  him  void  of  all  taste,  or  exclaim  that  his  taste 
Was  corrupted  in  a  miserable  degree. 

3.  Or  if  eithor  of  the  two  men  who  disputed  about  the  pre-eminence 
of  Virgil  or  (.f  Homer,  should  evin<  e  the  same  disposition  as  the  third 
man  shesved  ;  his  antagonist  would  appeal  to  whatever  he  thought  the 
standard  6f  taste  to  shew  him  that  he  was  in  the  wrong. 

369.  A  STANDARD  propcrly  signifies  that,  witich,  being 
fixed  by  convention,  is  of  such  undoubted  authority  as  to  be 
the  test  of  other  things  of  the  same  kind. 

Illus.  1.  Thus  a  standard  weight  or  measure  is  that  which  is  appoint  - 
ed  by  law  to  regulate  all  other  weights  and  measures. 

2.  Thus,  also,  the  Court  is  said  to  be  the  standard  of  good  breeding  ; 
and  the  Scripture,  of  theological  truth. 

370.  In  all  cases  where  an  imitation  is  intended  of  some 
object  that  exists  in  nature,  as  in  representing  human  char- 
acters and  actions,  nature  is  the  standard  of  taste,  because 
conformity  to  it  affords  a  full  and  distinct  criterion  of  what 
is  truly  beautiful. 

065.  Reason  hath  in  such  cases  full  scope  for  exerting  its  authorityj 
for  approving  or  condemning  ;  by  comparing  ihe  copy  with  the  ojigin" 
al.  But  there  are  innumerable  cases  in  which  this  rale  cannot  be  ap- 
plied ;  and  conformity  with  nature  is  an  expression  frequently  used, 
without  any  distinct  or  determinate  meaning.  The  standard  of  taste 
must,  therefore,  be  something  which  is  clear  and  precise,  without  any 
imperfection,  irregularity,  or  disorder. 

371.  The  general  sentiments  of  mankind  must  be  consid- 
ered ih^  standard  to  which  the  ultimate  appeal  must  ever 
lie,  in  all  works  of  taste, 

Illus.  If  any  one  should  maintain  that  sugar  was  bitter,  and  tobacco 
sweet,  no  reasonings  on  his  part  could  avail  to  prove  tliis  position  ; 
mankind  would  infallibly  hold  the  taste  of  such  a  person  to  be  di-teas- 
ed,  merely  because  it  differed  diametrically  from  the  taste  of  the  spe- 
cies to  which  he  belonged.  In  like  manner,  with  regard  to  the  objects 
of  sentiment  or  internal  taste,  the  common  feelings  of  men  carry  the 
same  authority,  and  become  an  universal  standard  to  regulate  the  taste 
of  every  individual. 

372.  There  is  nothing  but  the  taste,  as  far  as  it  can  be 
gathered,  of  human  nature,  of  sufficient  authority  to  be  the 
standard  of  the  various  and  opposite  tastes  of  mcH. 

Illus.  That  which  men  concur  the  most  in  admiring  must  be  reckon- 
ed beaiitiful.  His  taste  must  be  esteeiiM-d  just  and  true  which  coincides 
with  the  general  sentiments  of  men.  lie  who,  m  any  dispute,  appeals 
to  the  common  sense  of  mankmd  as  the  nltimate  rule  or  standard  by 
which  he  will  be  judged,  evinces  a  conviction  of  a  common  standard 
to  which  his  taste  is  right  or  rood  if  conformable,  while  that  of  his  op- 
ponent must  be  wrong  or  bad,  if  disconlorraablc.     The  taste  of  a  whole 


198  SianJard  of  TasU. 

people,  guided  by  reason  and  virttte,  must  generally  be  exquisite  arA 
just,  their  intenidl  seiiises  unerring  and  sure.  He  who  allows  subniis' 
sion  to  be  due  to  the  determinations  of  all  mankind,  acknowledges  a 
perfect  stan<l'drd  for  the  taste  of  all  others. 

373.  But  besides  the  approbation  of  the  majority,  there 
are  principles  of  reason  and  sound  judgmtrU  which  can  be 
applied  to  matters  of  taste,  as  well  as  to  the  subjects  of  sci- 
ence and  |;hilosophy. 

Illiis.  He  who  admires  or  censures  any  work  of  genius,  is  always 
ready,  if  his  taste  be  improved,  to  assign  some  reasons  for  his  decision, 
vie  rippeals  to  principles,  and  points  out  the  grounds  on  which  he  pro- 
er'is.  Taste  is,  therefore,  a  son  of  compound  power,  in  which  the 
'ight  of  the  understanding  always  mingles,  more  or  less,  with  the  feel- 
nigs  of  se:)timent. 

374.  The  ultimate  conclusions  to  which  our  reasonings 
lead,  in  judging  concerning  works  of  taste,  refer  at  last  to 
sense  and  perception. 

ILlus.  1.  Just  reasonings  concerning  propriety  of  conduct  in  a  trage- 
dy, or  an  epic  poem,  will  correct  the  caprice  of  unenlightened  taste, 
and  establish  principles  for  judging  of  what  deserves  praise.  These 
reasonings,  in  the  last  resort,  appeal  always  to  feeling.  Iheir  founda- 
tion is  detpty  laid  in  whatever  has  been  found  from  experience  to 
please  mankind  universally. 

2.  Upon  this  ground,  we  prefer  a  simple  and  natural,  to  an  artificial 
style  ;  a  regular  and  well-connected  story,  to  loose  and  scattered  nar- 
ratives ;  a  catastrophe  which  is  tender  and  pathetic,  to  one  which 
leaves  us  nn moved. 

Corol.  It  is  from  consulting  our  own  imagination  and  heart,  and 
from  attending  to  the  feelings  of  others,  that  any  principles  are  formed 
which  acquire  authority  in  matters  of  taste. 

375.  AVhen  \re  refer  to  the  concurring  sentiments  of  men 
as  to  the  ultimate  test  of  what  is  to  be  accounted  beautiful 
in  the  arts,  this  is  alwavs  to  be  understood  of  men  placed  in 
:5uch  situations  as  are  favourable  to  the  proper  exertions  of 
taste. 

Illus.  The  sentiments  of  mankind  in  polished  and  flourishing  na- 
tions, wh«re  arts  are  cultivated,  and  manners  refined,  where  works  of 
l^enius  are  subject  to  free  discussion,  and  taste  is  improved  by  sci- 
ence and  philosophy, — become  the  principles  of  authority  which  must 
necessarily  be  decisive  of  every  controversy  that  can  arise  upon  matters 
of  taste. 

576.  We  conclude,  therefore,  that  taste  is  not  an  arbitra- 
ry principle,  subject  to  the  fancy  of  every  individual,  and 
admitting  no  criterion  by  which  to  determine  whether  if  be 
true  or  false.  Its  foundation  is  the  same  in  all  iiuman  minds. 
It  IS  built  upon  scnhments  and  perceptions  which  belong  t® 
our  nature  ;  and  which  in  genera!  '>perate  with  the  same  uni- 
formity as  our  other  intellectual  principles. 


standard  of  Task.  19§ 

^hs.  Whea  these  sentiments  are  perverted  by  ignorance  and  preju- 
tlice,  they  are  capable  of  being  rectified  by  reason.  Their  sound  and 
natural  state  is  uhimately  determined,  by  comparing  them  with  the 
general  taste  of  mankind. 

377.  In  every  composition,  what  interests  the  heart  pleas- 
es all  ages  and  all  nations.  There  is  a  certain  string  to 
which,  when  properly  struck,  the  human  heart  is  so  made  as 
to  answer. 

Illus.  1.  Hence,  the  universal  testimony  which  the  most  improved 
nations  of  the  earth  have  conspired,  throughout  a  long  succession  of 
ages,  to  give  to  some  few  works  of  genius  )  such  as  the  Iliad  of  Homer, 
and  the  ^neid  of  Virgil. 

2.  Hence,  the  authority  which  such  works  have  acquired  as  stand- 
ards, in  some  degree,  of  poetical  composition  ;  since  from  them  we  are 
enabled  to  collect  what  the  sense  of  mankind  is,  concerning  those 
beauties  vvhi^h  give  them  the  highest  pleasure,  and  which,  therefore, 
poetry  ought  to  exhibit. 

378.  Uniformity  of  taste  and  sentiment  resulting  from 
our  conviction  of  a  common  standard,  leads  to  two  import- 
ant final  causes  ;  the  one  respecting  our  duty,  the  other, 
our  pastime  or  amusement. 

Obs.  Barely  to  mention  the  first,  shall  be  sufficient,  because  it  does 
not  properly  belong  to  the  present  undertaking.  Unhappy  it  would  be 
for  us  did  not  uniformity  prevail  in  morals  :  that  our  actions  should 
uniformly  be  directed  to  what  is  good  and  acanist  what  is  ill,  is  the 
greatest  blessing  of  society  ;  and  in  order  to  uniformity  in  action,  uni- 
formity of  opinion  and  sentiment  is  indispensable. 

379.  With  respect  to  pastime  in  general,  and  the  fine 
arts  in  particular,  the  following  illustrations  make  the  final 
cause  of  uniformity  abundantly  obvious. 

Illus.  1.  Uniformity  of  taste  g^ivcs  opportunity  for  sumptuous  and 
elegant  buildings,  for  fine  gardens,  and  extensive  establishments  which 
please  generally. 

2.  The  reason  is  obvious  :  without  uniformity  of  taste,  there  could 
not  be  any  suitable  reward,  either  of  profit  or  honour,  to  encourage 
men  of  genius  to  labour  in  such  works,  and  to  advance  them  to  perfec- 
tion. 

3.  The  same  uniformity  of  taste  is  equally  necessary  to  perfect  the 
arts  of  music,  sculpture,  and  paintino^,  and  to  support  the  expense 
which  they  require  after  they  are  brought  to  perfection. 

4.  Nature  is,  in  every  particular,  consistent  with  herself:  we  are 
framed  by  nature  to  have  a  high  relish  for  the  fijie  arts,  which  are  a 
great  source  of  happiness,  and  friendly  in  a  high  degree  to  v!.tue  :  we 
are.  at  the  same  time,  framed  with  uniformity  of  taste  to  furnish  pro- 
per objects  for  that  high  relish  ;  and  if  uniformity  did  not  prevail,  the 
fi  ne  arts  would  never  have  made  any  figure. 

380.  Another  final  cause  no  less  obvious,  is  the  separation 
of  men  into  different  classes,  by  birth,  ofiice,  or  occupation. 
How  much  soever  this  separation  might  tend  to  relax  the 

18 


200  Criticism, 

connexion  that  ought  to  subsist  among  the  members  of  the 
same  state,  its  effects  are  prevented  by  the  access  of  all 
ranks  of  people  to  public  spectacles  and  amusements.  These 
assemblages  of  people  of  one  country  are  best  enjoyed  in 
company.  In  this  common  fellowship  every  one  partakes 
of  the  same  pleasures.  Such  meetings  are,  therefore,  no 
slight  support  to  the  social  affections*  and  to  uniformity  of 
taste. 


CHAPTER  IL 

CRITICISM. 


08 1.  TASTE,  crifidsjn,  and  genius,  are  words  currentlj 
employed,  without  distinct  ideas  annexed  to  them. 

Definilion.  True  criticism  is  the  application  of  taste  and  of  good 
1130  to  the  several  fine  arts.  The  ohject  which  it  proposes  is,  to  dis* 
ig^uish  what  is  beautiful  and  what  is  faulty  in  every  performance  ; 
>m  particular  instances  to  ascend  to  general  principles  ;  and  so  to 
M  m  rules  or  conclusroas  concerning  the  several  kinds  of  beauty  in 
works  of  i^enius. 

lllus.  The  rules  of  criticism  arc  not  formed  by  any  induction,  a  pri- 
'>r>",  as  it  is  called  ;  that  is,  they  are  not  formed  by  a  train  of  ab- 
tract  reasoning,  independent  of  facts  and  observations.  Criticism  is 
Ml  art  founded  wholly  on  experience;  on  the  observations  of  surh 
beauties  as  have  come  nearest  to  the  standard  which  we  before  estab- 
lished ;  that  is,  of  such  beauties  as  have  been  found  to  please  mankind 
most  generally.     (.^/7.  371.) 

2.  For  example;  Aristotle's  rules  concerning  the  unity  of  action  in 
dramatic  and  epic  composition,  were  not  first  discovered  by  logical 
reasoning,  and  then  applied  to  poetry  ;  but  they  were  rules  drawn 
from  the  practice  of  Homer  and  Sophocles  :  they  were  foun<led  upon 
observing  the  superior  pleasure  which  mankind  received  from  the  rela- 
tion of  an  action  which  was  one  and  entire,  beyond  what  they  receiv- 
ed  from  the  relation  of  scattere<l  and  unconnected  facts. 

3.  Such  observations  taking  their  rise  at  first  from  feeling  and  ex- 
perience, were  found,  on  examination,  to  be  so  consonant  to  reason, 
and  to  the  principles  of  human  aature,  as  to  pass  into  established 
rules,  and  to  be  conveniently  applied  for  judging  of  the  excellency  of 
any  performance  This  is  the  most  natural  account  of  the  origin  of 
criticism. 

382.  A  masterly  genius,  it  is  true,  will  of  himself,  un- 
taught, compose  in  such  a  manner  as  shall  be  agreeable  t© 

•  On  works  of  taste,  the  student  may  now  consult  Dr.  Gerrard^f  Essay  on  Taste—- 
T)*Aleinbert''s  Reflections  on  the  use  aiul  abuse  of  Philosophy  in  matters  which  relate 
to  taste— Reflections  Critiqiit;.  sur  la  Poesie  et  sur  la  Pemture— A'flmw"  Eleu»ents  of 
Criticism— /fi///jfV  Essay  on  the  Stanciard  oi  Taste— Intioductiou  to  the  Essay  on  the 
Sublioje  and  Beautiful— B/arr"*  Lectures,  and  Allison  on  Taste. 


Grtticism.  50i 

the  most  material  rules  of  criticism  ;  for  as  these  rules  are 
fou tided  in  nature,  nature  will  often  suggest  them  in  prac- 
tice. 

Illus.  It  is  more  than  probable  that  Homer  was  acquainted  with  no 
systems  of  the  art  of  poetry.  Guided  by  genius  alone,  he  composed 
in  verse  a  regular  story,  which  all  posterity  has  admired.  But  this  is 
no  argument  against  the  usefulness  of  criticism  as  an  art.  For  as  no 
human  genius  is  perfect,  there  is  no  writer  but  may  receive  assistance 
from  critical  observations  upon  the  beauties  and  faults  of  those  who 
have  gone  before  him.  No  observatioiis  or  rules  can  indeed  supply  the 
defect  of  genius,  or  inspire  it  where  it  is  wanting.  But  they  may  of- 
ten direct  it  into  its  proper  channel ;  they  may  correct  its  extrava- 
gances, and  point  out  to  it  the  most  just  and  proper  imitation  of  na- 
ture. Critical  rules  are  designed  chiefly  to  shew  the  faults  that  ought 
to  be  avoided.  To  nature  we  must  be  indebted  for  the  production  of 
eminent  beauties.     (See  CoroL  l.p.  59.) 

383.  From  what  has  been  said,  we  are  enabled  to  form  a 
judgment  concerning  those  complaints  which  it  has  long 
been  fashionable  for  petty  authors  to  make  against  critics 
and  criticism. 

Illus.  1.  Critics  have  bv'en  represented  as  the  great  abridgers  of  the 
native  liberty  of  genius  ;  as  the  imposers  of  unnatural  shackles  and 
bonds  upon  writers,  from  whose  cruel  persecution  they  must  fly  to  the 
public,  and  implore  its  proiection.  &uch  supplicatory  prefaces  are  not 
€alculated  to  give  very  favourable  ideas  of  the  genius  of  the  author. 
For  every  good  writer  will  be  pleased  to  have  his  work  examined  by 
the  principles  of  sound  understanding  and  true  taste. 

2.  The  declamations  against  criticism  commonly  proceed  upon  this 
supposition,  that  critics  are  such  as  judge  by  rule,  not  by  feeling. 
This  is  so  far  from  being  true,  that  they  who  judge  after  this  manner 
are  pedants,  not  critics.  For  all  the  rules  of  genuine  criticism  will  be 
found  to  be  ultimately  founded  on  feeling  :  and  taste  and  feeling  are 
necessary  to  guide  us  in  the  application  of  these  rules  to  every  partic- 
ular instance. 

3.  As  there  is  nothing  in  which  all  sorts  of  persons  more  readily  af- 
fect to  be  judges,  than  in  works  of  taste,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the 
number  of  incompetent  critics  will  always  be  great.  But  this  affords 
no  more  foundation  for  a  general  invective  against  criticism,  than  the 
number  of  bad  philosophers  or  reasoners  affords  against  sound  philo- 
sophy and  logic. 

384.  An  objection  more  plausible  may  be  formed  against 
criticism,  from  the  applause  that  some  performances  have 
received  from  the  public,  which,  when  accurately  consider- 
ed, are  found  to  contradict  the  rules  established  by  criti- 

^     cism. 

Illus.  Now,  according  to  the  principles  laid  down  in  the  last  chapter, 
the  public  is  the  supreme  judge  to  whom  the  last  appeal  mijst  be  made 
in  every  work  of  taste ;  as  the  standard  of  taste  is  founded  on  the 
eentiments  that  are  natural  and  common  to  all  men.  But  with  resi)ect 
to  this,  we  are  to  observe,  that  the  sense  of  the  public  is  often  too 
hastily  judged  of.     The  genuine  public  taste  does  not  always  appear 


rm  Of  Genius,. 

in  the  first  applause  given  upon  the  publicatioH  of  aay  aew  ^'(BiL. 
There  are  both  the  great  vulgar,  and  the  small  vulgar,  v\ho  are  apt  t» 
be  catched  and  dazzled  by  very  superficial  beauties,  the  admiration  of 
which  in  a  little  time  passes  away  :  and  sometimes  a  writ.-r  may  ac- 
quire great  temporary  reputation,  merely  by  his  compliance  with  the 
passions  or  prejudices,  with  the  party  spirit  or  superstitious  notions, 
that  may  chance  to  rule  for  a  time  almost  a  whole  nation  In  such 
cases,  though  the  public  may  seem  to  praise,  true  criticism  may  with 
reason  condemn  ;  and  it  will  in  progress  of  time  gain  the  ascendant : 
for  the  judgment  of  true  criticism,  and  the  voice  of  the  public,  when 
once  become  unprejudiced  and  dispassionate,  will  ultimately  coincide. 

885.  There  are  some  works  that  contain  gross  transgres- 
sions of  the  laws  of  criticism,  which,  nevertheless,  have  ac- 
quired a  general,  and  even  a  lasting  admiration. 

Illus.   1.   Such  are  the  plays  of  Shakspeare,  which,   considered   as 
dramatic  poems,  are  irregular  in  the   highest  degree.     But   then  they 
have  gained  the   public  admiration,  not  by  their  being  irregular,  not 
by  their  transgrr»ssion  of  the  rules  of  art,  but  in  spite  of  such  trans- 
gressions.    'J  hey    possess   other    beauties  which    are   conformable  to 
just  rules  ;  and  the   force   of  these   beauties    has   been  so   great  as  to 
overpower  all  censure,  and  to  give  the  public  a  degree  of  satisfaction 
tj)crior  to  the  disgust  arising  from  their  blemishes. 
2.  Jihakspeare   pleases,    not    by  his    bringing   the  transactions   of 
many  years  into  one  play  ;  not  by  his  grotesque  mixtures  of  tragedy 
and  comedy  in  one  piece,  nor  by  the  strained  th^ug^hts,  and  aflected 
witticisms,  which    h»*  sometimes   employs.      These   we    consider    as 
blemishes,  and     mpute  them  to  the  grossness  of  the  age  in  which   he 
lived.     But  he   pleases   by  his  animated   and  masterly  representationg 
of  characters,  by  the   liveliness  of  his   descriptions,   the   force  of  his 
sentiments,  and   his  posssessiug,  beyond  all  writers,  the  natural   lan- 
guage of  passion  :  beauties  which  true  criticism  no  less  teachf**;  os  tc 
liice  in  the  highest  raak,  than  nature  teaches  us  to  feci. 


CHAPTER  III. 

O*    GENIUS. 

386.  TASTE  and  Genius  are  two  words  frequently 
joined  together;  and  therefore,  by  inaccurate  thinkers,. con- 
founded. Taste  cox\^\hU'\nX\iQ  power  o{  judging  ;  genius, 
in  the  poiver  of  executing. 

Illus.  1.  One  may  have  a  considerable  degree  of  taste  in  poetry,  elo- 
quence, or  any  of  the  fine  arts,  who  has  little  or  haidly  any  genius  for 
composition  or  execution  in  any  of  these  arts  ;  but  genius  cannot  be 
found  without  including  taste  also.  Genius,  therefore,  deserves  to  be 
oonsi  lered  as  a  higher  power  of  the  mind  than  taste. 

2.  Genius  alwavs  imports  something  inventive  or  creative;  which 
docs  a*t  rest  in  mere  sensibility  to  beauty  where  it  is  perceived,  bu,* 


Of  Gmius.  ^OS. 

which  can,  moreover,  produce  new  beauties,  and  exhibit  them  in  sucft 
a  manner  as  strongly  to  impress  the  minds  of  others.  Refined  taste 
forms  a  good  critic  j  but  geuius  is  farther  necessary  to  form  the  poet, 
or  the  orator. 

3.  Genius  is  a  word,  which,  in  common  acceptation,  extends  much 
farther  than  to  the  objects  of  taste.  It  is  used  to  signify  that  taltni  or 
npliiude  which  we  receive  from  nature,  for  excelling  in  any  one  thing 
whatever.  Thus  we  speak  of  a  genius  for  mathematics^  as  well  as  a 
genius  for  poetry  ;  of  a  genius  for  war,  for  politics j  or  for  any  mechan- 
ical employment. 

387.  This  talent  or  aptitude  for  excelling  in  some  one 
particular,  is  what  we  receive  fiom  nature.  By  art  and 
study,  no  doubt,  it  may  be  greatly  improved  ;  but  by  them 
alone  it  cannot  be  acquired. 

lllus.  1.  As  genius  is  a  higher  faculty  than  taste,  it  is  ever,  accord- 
ing to  the  usual  frugality  of  nature,  more  limited  in  the  sphere  of  its 
operations.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  meet  with  persons  who  have  an 
excellent  taste  in  several  of  the  polite  arts,  such  as  music,  poetry, 
painting,  and  eloquence,  all  together  :  but,  to  find  one  who  is  an  ex- 
cellent performer  in  all  these  arts,  is  much  more  rare  ;  or  rather,  in- 
deed, such  an  one  is  not  to  be  looked  for. 

2.  A  sort  of  universal  genius,  or  one  who  is  equally  and  indifferently 
turned  towards  several  different  professions  and  arts,  is  not  likely  to 
excel  in  any.  Although  there  may  be  some  iew  exceptions,  yet  in 
general  it  holds,  that  when  the  bent  of  the  mind  is  exclusively  directed 
towards  some  one  object,  there  is  the  fairest  prospect  of  eminence  in 
that,  whatever  it  be.  The  rays  must  converge  to  a  point,  in  order  to 
glow  intensely.  This  remark  is  the  more  necessary,  on  account  of  its 
great  importance  to  young  people,  in  leading  them  to  examine  with 
care,  and  to  pursue  with  ardour,  the  current  and  pointing  of  nature 
towards  those  exertions  of  genius  in  which  they  are  most  likely  to 
excel. 

388.  A  genius  for  any  of  the  fine  arts,  always  supposes 
taste  ;  it  is  clear,  that  the  improvement  of  taste  will  serve 
both  to  forward  and  to  correct  the  operations  of  genius. 

Illus.  1.  In  proportion  as  the  taste  of  a  poet,  or  orator,  becomes 
more  refined  with  respect  to  the  beauties  of  composition,  it  will  cer- 
tainly assist  him  to  produce  the  move  finished  beauties  in  his  work. 
Genius,  however,  in  a  poet,  or  orator,  may  sometimes  exist  in  a  high- 
er degree  than  taste  ;  that  is,  genius  may  be  bold  and  strong,  when 
taste  is  neither  very  delicate,  nor  y/Gry  correct. 

2.  This  is  often  the  case  in  the  infancy  of  arts :  a  period  when  gen- 
ius frequently  exerts  itself  with  great  vigour,  and  executes  with  much 
warmth  ;  while  taste,  which  requires  experience,  and  improves  by 
slower  degrees,  hath  not  yet  attained  to  its  full  growth. 

3.  Homer  and  Shakespeare  are  proofs  of  what  is  here  asserted.  In 
the  admirable  writings  of  those  two  great  poets  are  found  instances  of 
rudeness  and  indelicacy,  which  the  more  refined  taste  of  later  writers, 
of  far  inferior  genius,  would  have  taught  them  to  avoid. 

4.  As  all  human  perfection  is  limited,  this  may  very  probably  be  the 
!aw  of  our  nature,  that  it  is  not  given  to  one  man  to  execute  with  vig- 

18* 


^04  The  Pleasures  of  Taste. 

our  and  fire,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  attend  to  all  the  lesser  and  mof«^ 
refined  graces  that  belong  to  the  exact  perfection  of  hig  work  :  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  a  thorough  taste  for  those  inferior  graces  is,  for  the 
most  part,  accompanied  with  a  diminution  of  sublimity  and  force. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  SOURCES  OF  THE  PLEASURES  OF  TASTE. 

389.  HAVING  now  explained  the  nature  of  taste,  the 
nature  and  importance  of  criticism,  and  the  distinction  be- 
tween  taste  and  genius  ;    we   are  now  to  consider  the 

SOURCES  OF  THE  PLEASURES  OF  TASTE. 

Obs.  Here  opens  a  very  extensive  field  ;  no  less  than  all  the  plea- 
lures  of  the  imagination,  as  they  are  commonly  called,  whether  aflord- 
^(\  us  by  natural  objects,  or  by  the  imitations  and  descriptions  of  them. 
*iut  it  is  not  necessary  to  the  purpose  of  this  Grammar,  that  all  these 
»hould  be  examined  fully  ;  the  pleasure  which  we  receive  from  dis- 
course, or  writing,  being  the  main  object  ol  them,  so  far  as  rhetoric  is- 
concerned.  All  that  is  proposed,  is  to  give  some  openings  into  the 
pleasures  of  taste  in  general ;  and  to  insist  more  particularly  upon 
sublimity  and  beauty. 

Ilhis.  1.  It  is  diOicult  to  make  a  full  enumeration  of  the  several  ob- 
tects  that  give  pleasure  to  taste  ;  it  is  more  difficult  to  <lefine  all  those 
which  have  been  discovered,  and  to  reduce  them  under  proper  classes; 
and,  when  we  would  go  farther,  and  investigate  the  efficient  causes  of 
the  pleasure  which  we  receive  from  such  objects,  here,  above  all,  we 
find  ourselves  at  a  loss. 

2.  For  instance  ;  we  all  learn  by  experience,  that  certain  figures  of 
bodies  appear  to  us  more  beautiful  than  others.  On  inquiring  farther, 
we  find  that  the  regularity  of  some  figures,  and  the  graceful  variety  of 
f>thers,  arc  the  foundation  of  the  beauty  which  we  discern  in  them  ;  but 
when  we  attempt  to  go  a  step  beyond  this  and  inquire  what  is  the 
»jause  of  regularity  and  variety  producing  in  our  minds  the  sensation 
of  beauty,  any  reason  we  can  assign  is  extremely  imperfect.  These 
first  principles  of  internal  sensation,  nature  seems  to  have  covered  with 
ail  impenetrable  veil. 

3.  Although  the  efficient  cause  be  obscure,  the  final  cause  of  those 
'sensations  lies  in  many  cases  more  open  :  and,  in  entering  on  this  sub- 
•ect,  we  cannot  avoid  taking  notice  of  the  stroug  impression  which  the 
2>owers  oi'  taste  and  imagination  are  calculated  to  give  us  of  the  benig- 
nity of  our  Creator. 

4.  By  endowing  us  with  such  powers,  he  hath  widely  enlarged  tho^ 
r  phere  of  the  pleasures  of  human  life  ;  a'.ul  those  too  of  a  kind  the 
.tiost  pure  and  innocent.  The  necessary  purposes  of  life  might  have 
•)een  abundantly  answered,  though  our  senses  of  seeing  and  hearing 
had  only  served  to  distinguish  external  objects,  without  conveying  to 
\ii  any  of  those  refined  and  delicate  sensations  of  beauty  and  grandeur, 
\vith  which  we  are  now  so  m(\«:h  delighted. 

•5  This  additional  embellishment  and  glory,  which,  for  promoting  our 


Grandeur  and  Sublimit^,  205 

entertainment,  the  Author  of  Nature  hath  poured  forth  upon  his  works, 
is  one  striking-  testiuioay,  among  many  others,  of  His  benevolence  and 
g-oodness. 

6.  This  thought,  which  Mr.  Addison  first  started,  Dr.  Akenside,  in 
his  poem  on  the  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,  has  happily  pursued, 

Not  content 

With  every  food  of  life  to  nourish  mail) 
By  kind  allusions  of  the  wondering  sense« 
Thou  mak'st  all  nature,  beauty  to  his  eye, 
Or  music  to  his  ear.    -    -    - 

390.  First,  then,  we  begin  with  considering  the  pleasure 
xvhich  arises  from  sublimity  or  grandeur. 

Illus.  It  is  not  easy  to  describe,  in  words,  the  precise  impression 
which  great  and  sublime  objects  make  upon  us  when  we  behold  them, 
but  every  one  has  a  conception  of  it.  It  produces  a  sort  of  internal 
elevation  and  expansion  ;  it  raises  the  mind  much  above  its  ordinary 
state;  and  fills  it  with  a  degree  of  wonder  and  astonishment,  which  it 
cannot  well  express.  The  emotion  is  certainly  delightful  ;  but  it  is 
altogether  of  the  serious  kind  ;  a  degree  of  avvfuiness  and  solemnity, 
even  approaching  to  severity,  commonly  attends  it  when  at  its  height; 
very  distinguishable  from  the  more  gay  and  brisk  emotion  raised  by 
beautiful  objects. 

391.  The  simplest  form  of  external  grandeur  appears  in 
the  vast  and  boundless  prospects  presented  to  us  by  nature ; 
such  as  wide  extended  plains,  to  which  the  eye  can  see  no 
limits  ;  the  firmament  of  heaven  ;  or  the  boundless  expanse 
of  the  ocean.  All  vastness  produces  the  impression  of  sub- 
limity. 

lllas.  It  is  to  be  remarked,  however,  that  space,  extended  in  length, 
makes  not  so  strong  an  impression  as  height  or  depth.  Though  a 
boundless  plain  be  a  grand  object,  yet  a  high  mountain,  to  which  we 
look  up,  or  an  awful  precipice  or  tower,  whence  we  look  down  on  the 
objects  which  lie  below,  is  still  more  so. 

2.  The  excessive  grandeur  of  the  firmament  arises  from  its  height, 
joined  to  its  boundless  extent ;  and  that  of  the  ocean,  not  from  its  ex- 
tent alone,  but  from  the  perpetual  motion  and  irresistible  force  of  that 
mass  of  waters.  Wherever  space  is  concerned,  it  is  clear,  that  ampli- 
tude or  greatness  of  extent,  in  one  dimension  or  other,  is  necessary  to 
grandeur.  Remove  all  bounds  from  any  object,  and  you  presently 
render  it  sublime. 

Corol.  Hence,  infinite  space,  endless  numbers,  and  eternal  duration, 
fill  the  mind  with  great  ideas. 

392.  But  vastness,  or  amplitude  of  extent,  is  not  alone 
the  fiundation  of  all  sublimity  ;  because  many  objects  ap- 
pear sublime,  which  have  no  relation  to  space  at  all. 

Illiu.  Such,  for  instance,  is  great  loudness  cf  sound.  The  burst  of 
thunder  or  of  cannon,  the  roaring  of  winds,  the  shouting  of  muliitudcs, 
the  sound  of  vast  cataracts  of  water,  are  all  incont«stibly  grand  objects. 
In  general  we  may  observe,  that  great  power  and  force  exerted,  always- 
raise  sublime  ideas  ;  and  perhaps  tiie  most  copious  source  of  these  is 
derived  from  this  quarter.    Hence  the  grandeur  of  earthquakes  and* 


a06  Tlie  Pleasures  of  7 ante* 

burning  mountains  ;  of  great  conflagrations  ;  of  the  stortiay  oceaff, 
and  overtlovving  waters  )  of  tempests  of  wind  ;  of  thunder  and  light* 
ning  ;  and  of  all  the  uncommon  violence  of  the  elements. 

2.  iNothing  is  more  sublime  than  mighty  power  and  strength.  A 
9tream  that  runs  within  its  banks  is  a  beautiful  object  ;  but  when  it 
rushes  down  with  the  impetuosity  and  noise  of  a  torrent,  it  presently 
becomes  a  sublime  one.  From  lions,  and  other  animals  of  strength, 
are  drawn  sublinxe  comparisons  in  poets.  A  race-horse  is  looked  up- 
on with  pleasure  ;  but  it  is  th-^  war-horse,  "  whose  neck  is  clothed 
with  thunder,"  that  carries  grandeur  in  its  appearance,  or  our  idea  of 
Ihe  animal. 

3.  The  engagement  of  two  great  armies,  as  it  is  the  highest  exertioa 
of  human  might,  combines  a  variety  of  sources  of  the  sublime  ;  and  has 
accordingly  been  always  considered  as  one  of  the  most  striking  and 
magnificent  spectacles  that  can  either  be  presented  to  the  eye,  or  exhi- 
bited to  the  imagination  in  description. 

Example  "  Like  Autumn's  dark  storms,  pouring  from  two  echoing 
hills,  towards  each  other,  approached  the  heroes  :  as  two  dark  streams 
from  high  rocks,  meet  and  roar  on  the  plain,  loud,  rough,  and  dark  in 
battle,  meet  Lochlin  and  Inisfail.  Chief  mixes  his  strokes  with  chief, 
and  man  with  man  :  steel  sounds  on  steel,  and  helmets  are  cleft  on 
high  ;  blood  bursts,  and  smokes  around :  strings  murmur  on  the  pol- 
ished yew  :  darts  rush  along  the  sky  :  spears  fall  like  sparks  of  flame 
that  gild  the  stormy  face  of  night. 

*  As  the  noise  of  troubled  ocean  when  roll  the  waves  on  high,  as  the 
last  peal  of  thundering  heaven  ;  such  is  Ihe  noise  of  battle.  Though 
Cormacs'  hundred  bards  were  there,  feeble  were  the  voice  of  an  hun- 
ilred  bards,  to  send  the  deaths  to  futui^e  times  ;  for  many  were  the 
deaths  of  the  heroes,  and  wide  poured  the  blood  of  the  valiant."  Fin- 
gal. 

Analysis.  Never  were  images  more  awfully  sublime,  employed  to 
heighten  the  terror  of  a  battle. 

393.  For  the  farther  illustration  of  this  subject,  it  is  pro- 
per to  remark,  that  all  ideas  of  the  solemn  and  awful  kind, 
and  even  bordering  on  the  terrible,  tend  greatly  to  assist  the 
sublime  :  such  as  darhiess,  solilialey  and  silence. 

Illiis.  I,  What  are  the  scenes  of  nature  that  elevate  th<?  mind  in  the 
highest  degree,  and  produce  the  sublime  sensation  .^  Not  the  gay  land- 
scape, the  tiowery  field,  or  the  flourishing  city  ;  but  the  hoary  moim- 
tain,  and  the  solitary  lake  ;  the  aged  forest,  and  the  torrent  falling 
over  the  rock. 

2.  Hence,  too,  night-scenes  are  commonly  the  most  sublime.  The 
firmament,  when  filled  with  stars,  scattered  in  such  vatt  numbers,  and 
with  such  magnificent  profusion,  strikes  the  imagination  with  a  more 
awful  grandeur,  than  when  we  view  it  enlightened  with  all  the  splen- 
dour of  the  sun. 

3.  The  deep  sound  of  a  great  bell,  or  the  striking  of  a  great  clock, 
are  at  any  time  grand  ;  but,  when  heard  amid  the  silence  and  stillness 
of  the  night,  they  become  doubly  so. 

4.  Darkness  is  very  commonly  applied  for  adding  sublimity  to  all 
our  ideas  of  the  Deity.  "  He  maketh  darkness  his  pavilion  ;  he  dwell- 
eth  in  the  thick  cloud." 

So  Milton  : 


Qrandeur  and  Sublimity.  2Q7 

s    .    .    -    How  oft,  amidst 

Thick  clouds  and  dark,  does  Heaven's  all-ruling  Site 

Choose  to  reside,  his  glory  unobscured, 

And.  with  tlie  majesty  of  darkness,  round 

Circles  his  throne.    -    -    -  Par.  Lost,  Book  II.  263. 

594.  Obscurity,  we  are  farther  to  remark,  is  not  unfa- 
vourable to  the  sublime.  Though  it  render  the  object  in- 
distinct, the  impression,  however,  may  be  great ;  for  as  an 
ingenious  author  has  well  observed,  it  is  one  thing  to  make 
an  idea  clear,  and  another  to  make  it  aff'ecting  to  the  ima- 
gination ;  and  ihe  imagination  may  be  strongly  affected, 
and,  in  fact,  often  is  so,  by  objects  of  which  we  have  no  clear 
conception. 

Illus.  Thus  we  see,  that  almost  all  the  descriptions  given  us  of  the 
appearances  of  supernatural  being^s,  carry  some  sublimity,  though  the 
conceptions  which  they  afford  us  be  confused  and  indistinct.  Their 
sublimity  arises  from  the  ideas,  which  they  always  convey,  of  superior 
power  and  might,  joined  with  an  awful  obscurity. 

Example.  We  may  gee  this  fully  exemplified  in  the  following  noble 
passage  of  the  Book  of  Job  :  "  In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the 
night,  when  deep  sleep  falleth  upon  men,  fear  came  upon  me,  and 
trembling,  which  made  all  my  bones  to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed 
before  my  face  ;  the  hair  of  my  flesh  stood  up  :  it  stood  still ;  but  I 
could  not  discern  the  form  thereof;  an  image  was  before  my  eyes  ; 
there  was  silence  ;  and  1  heard  a  voice— shall  mortal  man  be  more 
just  than  God  .^"* 

Scholium.  No  ideas,  it  is  plain,  are  so  sublime  as  those  taken  from 
the  Supreme  Being  ;  the  most  unknown,  but  the  g^reatest  of  all  objects  , 
the  infinity  of  whose  nature,  and  the  eternity  of  whose  duration,  join- 
ed with  the  omnipotence  of  his  power,  though  they  surpass  our  con- 
ceptions, yet  exalt  them  to  the  highest.  In  general,  all  objects  that 
are  greatly  raised  above  us,  or  far  removed  from  us,  either  in  space  or 
in  time,  are  apt  to  strike  us  as  great.  Our  viewing  them  as  through 
the  mist  of  distance  or  antiquity,  is  favourable  to  the  impressions  of 
their  sublimity. 

595.  As  obscurity,  so  disorder  too,  is  very  compatible 
with  grandeur  ;  nay,  frequently  heightens  it.  Few  things 
that  are  strictly  regular,  and  methodical,  appear  sublime. 

Il'us.  We  see  the  limits  on  every  side  :  we  feel  ourselvtH>  confined  ; 
thet  i^  's  no  room  for  the  mind's  exerting  any  great  effort.  Exact  pro- 
portio'i  of  parts,  thoujih  it  enters  often  into  the  beautiful,  is  much  dis- 
regarded in  the  sublime.  A  great  mass  of  rocks,  thrown  together  by 
the  hand  of  nature,  with  wildness  and  confusion,  strike  the  mind  with 
more  grandeur  than  if  they  had  been  adjusted  to  one  another  with  the 
most  accurate  symmetry. 

Obs  ^n  the  feeble  attempts  which  human  art  can  make  towards  pro- 
ducing grand  objects,  (feeble,  doubtless,  in  comparison  with  the  physi- 
cal powers  of  nature,)  greatness  of  dimensions  always  constitutes  a 
pr'i'iple  part.  No  pile  of  building  can  convey  any  idea  of  ssubliniity, 
gnlefs  it  fee  ample  and  lofty.     There  is,  too,  ia  architwjture,  what  i% 

*  Job  ir.  14, 


208  The  Pleasures  of  Taste, 

called  greatness  of  manner  ;  which  seems  chiefly  to  arise  from  pfc- 
senting  the  object  to  us  in  one  full  point  of  view  ;  so  that  it  shall  make 
its  impression  whole,  entire  and  undivided  upon  the  mind.  A  Gotiuc 
cathedral  raises  ideas  of  grandeur  in  our  minds,  by  its  size,  its  height, 
its  awful  obscurity,  it  strensrth,  its  antiquity,  and  its  durability, 

396.  There  still  remains  to  be  mentioned  one  class  of 
sublime  objects,  which  may  be  called  the  moral,  or  senli- 
mental  sublime  ;  arising  from  certain  exerjions  of  the  hu- 
man mind  ;  from  certain  atfections,  and  actions,  of  our  fel- 
iow  creatures. 

Illi'S.  These  will  be  found  to  h.-^  all,  or  chiefly  of  that  class,  which 
comes  under  the  head  of  magnanimity,  or  heroism  ;  and  they  produce 
m  effect  extremely  similar  to  what  is  produced  by  th«  view  of  grand 
objects  in  nature  ;  Ailing  the  mind  with  admiration,  and  elevating  it 
above  itself. 

Example  l.—Scmn-Si  \    Ah  !  Warwick.  Warwick,  wert  tb«u  as  we  are» 
N  II  our  loss  agTiin. 

^iict-  haili  bruu(;ht  a  puissant  pou(  r  ; 
.'  iht- ii»\vt.     Ah!  could 'at  thou  fly  ! 

ll'aruaL.     \'  iix   iLyA  1  wuuld  not  Hy 

Third  Part  of  Henry  WL  Act  T.  Scene  % 

/.•,/.'•.  Such  a  sentiment  from  a  man  expiring  of  his  wounds  is 
M(  *,  and  must  tlevate  the  mind  to  the  greatest  height  that 
'^^i    L<   vUiic  by  a  single  expression. 

hxample  2.  Porus,  taken  prisoner  by  Alexander,  after  a  gallant  de- 
fence,  and  asked,  How  he  wished  to  be  treated  .''  aaswcred,  '<  Like  a 
king." 

3.  Ceesar  chiding  the  pilot,  who  was  afraid  to  set  out  with  him  in  a 
storm,  **  Quid  times  .''  Csesarem  vehis  ;'*  is  anotl.er  good  instance  of 
this  sentimental  sublime. 

Corol.  Wherever,  in  some  critical  and  high  situation,  we  behold  a 
man  uncommonly  intrepid,  and  resting  upon  himself;  superior  to  pas- 
sion and  to  fear  ;  animated  by  some  great  principle  to  the  contempt 
of  popular  opinion,  of  selfish  interest,  of  dangers,  or  of  death  ',  there 
we  are  struck  with  a  sense  of  the  sublime.    (See  Scholia  2.  ^rt.  419.) 

397.  High  virtue  is  the  most  natural  and  fertile  source  of 
this  moral  sublimity.  However,  on  some  occasions,  where 
virtue  either  has  no  place,  or  is  but  imperfectly  displayed, 
yet  if  extraordinary  vigour  and  force  of  mind  be  discovered, 
xve  are  not  insensible  to  a  degree  of  grandeur  in  the  charac- 
ter ;  and  from  the  splendid  conqueror,  or  the  daring  conspi- 
rator, whom  we  are  far  from  approving,  we  cannot  withhold 
our  admiration. 

Example.  The  sublime  in  natural,  and  the  sublime  in  moral  objects, 
Are  brought  before  us  in  one  view,  and  compared  togother,  in  the  fol- 
)«wiiig  beautiful  pas^ag^e  of  Akenside  s  Pleasures  of  the  Imagioatioo,; 

Look  th«'n  abroad  through  nature  i  to  the  range 
OI  planets,  su'.is.  and  adainantint-  spheres, 
"Whc»iling,  uii&huken.  tin-ough  the  void  inunense  ; 
And  speak,  O  ntuii  !  do*  s  this  capacious  sct'Ue^ 
With  hjilf  that  kindUng  xuajest j,  dilate 


'the  Sublime  in  tVrifing^  20^ 

TW  strong  concepti<in,  as  Mhen  Brutiw  rose 
Rt'iulgent,  iVoin  tht  stroke  of  Casar's  fate, 
Amid  the  croud  of  patiiots  :  and  his  arm 
Aloft  extending,  like  f  ternal  Jove, 
When  gruilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  call'd  aloud 
On  Tull)  's  name,  and  shook  his  crimson  steel, 
And  bade  the  father  of  liis  country  hail ! 
For  lo  .'  the  tyrant  prostrate  on  the  dust ; 
And  Rome  ag;ain  is  free.  Book  I. 

Scholia  I.  We  have  now  enumerated  a  variety  of  instances,  both  in 
•inanimate  objects  and  in  human  life,  where  the  suWime  appears.  In 
all  these  instances,  the  emotion  raised  in  us  is  of  the  same  kind,  al- 
though the  objects  that  produce  the  emotion  be  of  widely  different  kinds. 

2.  A  question  next  arises,  whether  we  are  able  to  discover  some  one 
fiindamental  quality,  in  which  all  these  different  objects  agree,  and 
which  is  the  cause  of  their  producing  an  emotion  of  the  same  nature  in 
our  minds  ?     Various  hypotheses  have  been  formed  concerning  this. 

3.  Some  have  imagined  that  amplitude  or  great  extent,  joined  with 
simplicity,  is  either  immediately,  or  remotely,  the  fundamental  quality 
of  whatever  is  sublime  ;  but  we  have  seen  that  amplitude  is  confined 
to  one  species  of  sublime  objects  ;  and  cannot,  without  violent  strain- 
ing, be  applied  to  them  all. 

4.  Again,  terror  has  been  supposed  the  source  of  the  sublime,  and 
that  no  objects  have  this  character  but  such  as  produce  impressions  of 
pain  and  danger.  It  is  indeed  true,  that  many  terrible  objects  are 
highly  sublime  ;  ^nd  that  grandeur  does  not  refuse  an  alliance  with 
the  idea  of  danger.  But  then  this  seems  to  stretch  the  theory  too  far  ; 
for  the  sublime  does  not  consist  wholly  in  modes  of  danger,  or  of  pain. 
The  proper  sensation  of  sublimity  appears  to  be  distinguishable  from 
the  sensation  of  either  of  these  ;  and,  on  several  occasions,  to  be  en- 
tirely separated  from  them. 

6.  In  many  grand  objects,  there  is  no  coincidence  with  terror  at  all ; 
as  in  the  magnificent  prospect  of  wide  extended  plains,  and  ot  the  star- 
ry firmament ;  or  in  the  moral  dispositions  and  sentiments,  which  we 
view  with  high  admiration  ;  and  in  many  painful  and  terrible  objects 
also,  it  is  clear,  there  is  no  sort  of  grandeur.  The  amputation  of  a 
limb,  or  the  bite  of  a  snake,  are  exceedingly  terrible  ;  but  are  destitute 
of  all  claim  whatever  to  sublimity. 

6.  Mighty  force  or  powtr^  whether  accompanied  with  terror  or  not, 
whether  employed  in  protecting  or  in  alarming  us,  has  perhaps  a  better 
title  than  any  thing  that  has  yet  been  mentioned,  to  be  the  fundament- 
al quality  of  the  sublime  ;  as,  after  the  review  which  we  have  taken, 
there  does  not  occur  any  sublime  object,  into  the  idea  of  which,  powers 
or  strength^  or  force ^  does  not  enter,  either  directly,  or,  at  least,  inti- 
mately associated  with  the  idea,  by  leading  our  thoughts  to  some  SES- 
tonishing  power,  as  concerned  in  the  production  of  the  object. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  SUBLIME  IN  WRITING* 

398.  Having  treated  of  grandeur  or  suhlimify,  in  esc- 
ternal  objects,  the  way  seems  now  to  be  cleared,  for  treating. 


210  The  Pleasures  of  Taste. 

with  more  advantage,  of  the  description  of  such  objects;  ©r, 
of  what  is  called  tke  sublime  in  writing.     The  foundation  * 
of  the  sublime  in  composition,  must  always  be  laid  in  the  na- 
ture of  the  object  described. 

Illus.  1.  Unless  it  be  such  an  object  as,  if  presented  to  our  eyes,  H 
exhibited  to  us  in  reality,  would  raise  ideas  of  that  elvating,  that  awful, 
and  magnificent  kind,  which  we  call  sublime  ;  the  description,  however 
finely  drawn,  is  not  entitled  to  come  under  this  class.  This  excludes 
all  objects  that  are  merely  beautiful,  g^ay,  or  elegant. 

2.  In  the  next  place,  the  object  must  not  only,  in  itself,  be  sublime j 
but  it  must  be  set  before  us  in  such  a  light  as  is  most  proper  to  give 
us  a  clear  and  full  impression  of  it ;  it  niusi  be  described  with  strength, 
with  conciseness,  and  simplicity.  This  depends  principally,  upon  the 
lively  iinprassioQ  which  the  poet,  or  orator,  has  of  the  object  which  he 
exhibiu  ;  and  upon  his  being  deeply  affected,  and  warmed,  by  the 
sublime  idea  which  he  would  convey.  If  his  own  feeling  be  languid, 
lie  can  never  inspire  us  with  any  strong  emotion.  Instances,  which 
ar«f  extremely  necessary  on  this  subject,  will  clearly  shew  the  impor- 
tance of  all  the  requisites  which  we  have  just  now  mentioned. 

S99.  It  is,  generally  speaking,  among  the  most  ancient 
authors,  that  we  are  to  look  for  the  most  striking  instance* 
of  the  sublime.  The  early  ages  of  the  worlcl,  and  the  rude 
unimproved  state  of  society,  are  peculiarly  favorable  to  the 
strong  emotions  of  sublimity. 

Jllus.  The  genius  of  men  is  then  ratich  turned  to  admiration  and 
astonishment.  Meeting  with  many  objects,  to  them  now  and  strange, 
their  imagination  is  kept  glowing,  and  their  passions  are  often  raised 
to  the  utmost.  They  think,  and  express  themselves  boldly,  and  with- 
out restraint.  In  the  progress*  of  society,  the  genius  and  manners  of 
,noo  undergo  a  change  more  favourable  to  accuracy,  than  to  strength 
or  sublimity.     (Su  Art   M  and  :i2.) 

400.  Of  all  writings,  ancient  or  modern,  the  sacred  Scrip- 
tures afford  us  the  highest  instances  of  the  sublime.  The 
descriptions  of  the  Deity,  in  them,  are  wonderfully  noble; 
both  from  the  grandeur  of  the  object,  and  the  manner  of  rep- 
resenting it. 

Example  1.  What  an  asscrabHge,  for  instance,  of  awful  and  sublime 
ideas  is  presented  to  us,  in  that  passage  of  the  18th  Psalm,  where  aa 
appearance  of  the  Almighty  is  described  ? 

2.  '*  In  my  distress  I  called  upon  the  Lord ;  he  heard  ray  voice  out  of 
his  temple,  and  my  cry  came  before  him.  Then  thf  earth  shook  and 
trembled  ;  the  foundations  also  of  the  hills  were  moved  ;  because  he 
was  wroth.  He  bowed  the  heavens  and  came  down,  and  darkness  was 
under  his  feet  ;  and  he  did  ride  upon  a  cherub,  and  did  lly  ;  yea,  he 
he  did  fly  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind.  He  made  da»ki)vss  his  secret 
place  ;  hu  pavilion  round  about  him  were  dark  waters,  and  thick 
clouds  oi  the  sky." 

Jiiiali^ns.  Here,  agreeably  to  the  principles  established  in  Chapter 
IV.  (Art.  394.J    ^e  see  with  what  propriety  aad  success  the  circum- 


The  Sublime  in  PVnling,  2U 

sVances  of  aaikness  and  terror  are  applied  for  heightening  the  sublime. 

Example  3.  So,  also,  the  prophet  Habakkuk,  in  a  similar  passage  : 
^^  He  stood  and  measured  the  earth  ^  he  beheld,  and  drove  asunder 
the  nations.  The  everlasting  mountains  were  scattered  ;  the  perpet- 
ual hills  did  bow  ;  his  ways  are  everlasting.  The  mountains  saw  thee  ; 
and  they  trembled.  The  overflowing  of  the  water  [jassed  by.  The 
deep  uttered  his  voice,  and  lifted  up  his  hands  on  high." 

4.  There  is  a  passage  in  (he  Psalms,  which  deserves  to  be  mentioned 
nnder  this  head  :  ''  God  stilleth  the  noise  of  the  seas,  the  noise  of  their 
waves,  aiid  the  tumults  of  the  people." 

.fynalysis.  The  joining  together  two  such  grand  objects,  as  the  raging 
?f  the  waters,  and  the  tumults  of  the  people,  between  which  there  Is  so 
•auch  resemblance  as  to  form  a  very  natural  association  in  thf  ffuicy, 
..lid  th'.  representing  them  both  as  subject,  at  one  momijiit,  to  the  com- 
mand of  God,  produces  a  noble  effect. 

401.  Homer  is  a  poet,  who,  in  all  ages,  and  bj  all  critics, 
lias  been  greatly  admired  for  sublimity  ;  and  he  owes  *nncli 
of  his  grandeur  to  that  native  and  uijailected  simplicity, 
which  characterises  his  tnanner. 

Illiis.  His  descriptions  of  hosts  engaging;  the  animation,  the  fire, 
and  rapidity,  which  he  throws  into  his  battles,  present  to  every  reader 
of  the  Iliad,  frequent  instances  cf  sublime  writiiig.  His  introduction 
of  the  gods^  tends  often  to  heighten,  in  a  high  degree,  iae  majesty  of 
iiis  warlike  scenes. 

Example  i.  Hence  Longinus  bestows  such  high  and  just  commen- 
dations on  that  passage  in  the  loth  Book  of  the  Iliad,  where  Neptune, 
when  preparing  to  issue  forth  mto  the  engagement,  is  described  as 
-shakuig  the  mountains  with  his  steps,  and  driving  his  chariot  along  tlie 
ocean. 

2.  Minerva,  arming  herself  for  fight,  in  the  5th  Book  ;  and  Apollo, 
in  the  loth,  leading  on  the  Trojans,  and  tlaslang  terror  with  his  a;gis 
on  the  face  of  the  Greeks  ;  are  similar  instances  of  great  sublimity 
added  to  t!ie  description  of  battles,  by  the  appearances  of  those  celes- 
tial behigs. 

3.  In  the  20th  Book,  where  all  the  gods  take  part  in  the  engage- 
ment, accordiag  as  they  severally  favour  either  tiie  Grecians  j-  (he 
Trojans,  the  poet's  genius  is  signally  displayed,  and  the  descri'>.'i:>n 
rises  into  the  most  awful  magnificence.  AU  nftfire  is  repr"«(\i,  ■!  ?n 
in  commotion.  Jupiter  thunders  in  the  heavens  ;  Nept'.;  na 
earth  with  his  trident;  the  ships,  the  city,  and  the  mo.  ., , 
the  earth  trembles  to  its  centre  ;  Pluto  starts  from  M^  th  \.,..  ,  id, 
iest  the  secrets  of  the  infernal  regions  should  l>e  i:.id  i  pt  a  to  the  views 
of  mortals. 

402.  The  works  of  Ossian  abound  with  examples  of  the 
sublime.  The  subjecis  of  which  that  author  treats,  and 
the  manner  in  which  he  writes,  are  particuhtrly  favcuable 
to  it. 

Illus.  He  possesses  all  the  plain  and  venerable  manner  of  the  an- 
cient times.  He  deals  n-.  no  superhuous  or  gaudy  ornaments ;  bi*t  throws 
fqrth  his  images  with  a  rapid  conoisei  <  ss,  which  ena':;]es  them  to  strike 
the  mind  with  the  greatest  force.    Among  poets  of  more  polished 

19 


A'^i  The  Pleasures  of  Tasie, 

Klines,  we  arc  to  look  for  the  graces  of  correct  writing-,  for  just  proper 
tion  of  parts,  and  skilfully  conductetl  narration.  In  the  midst  oX 
smiling  scenery  and  pleasurable  themes,  the  gay  and  the  beautiful  -will 
appear,  undoubtedly,  to  more  advantage.  But  amidst  the  rude  scenes 
of  nature  and  of  society,  such  as  Ossian  describes  ;  amidst  rocks,  and 
torrents,  and  whirlwinds,  and  battles,  dwells  the  sublime  ;  and  there  it 
naturally  associates  itself  with  that  grave  and  solemn  spirit,  which  dis- 
n^uishes  the  author  of  Fir»gal. 

-103.  Conciseness  and  simj)licity  are  essential  to  sublime 
writing.  Simplicity  is  opposed  to  studied  and  profuse  orna- 
ment ;  and  conciseness,  to  superfluous  expression. 

Jllns.  We  shall  now  explain  why  a  defect,  either  in  conciseness  or 
isimplicitv,  is  hurtful,  in  a  peculiar  manner,  to  the  sublime.  The 
emotion  occasioned  in  the  mind  by  some  great  or  noble  object,  raises 
it  considerably  above  its  ordinary  pitch  A  sort  of  enthusiasm  is  pro- 
♦luced,  extremely  agreeable  while  it  lasts  ;  but  from  which  the  mind  is 
tending  every  moment  to  fall  into  its  ordinary  situation.  Now.  when 
an  author  has  brought  us,  or  is  attempting  to  bring  ua,  into  this  siate, 
if  he  multiplies  v/ords  unncce.vsarily,  if  he  decks  the  sublime  object 
which  he  presents  to  us,  round  and  round,  with  glittering  ornaments; 
nay,  if  he  throws  in  any  one  decoration  that  sinks  in  the  least  below 
the  capital  image,  that  moment  he  alters  the  key  ;  he  relaxes  the  ten- 
sion of  the  mind;  the  strength  of  the  feeling  is  emasculated;  the 
beautiful  may  remain,  hut  the  sublime  is  gone. 

Example  1.  When  Julius  Casar  said  to  the  pilot,  who  was  afraid  to 
put  to  sea  with  him  in  a  storm,  "Quid  times?  Casarem  vehis  ;"  {Ex- 
atnph  3.  ^rt.  396.)  we  are  struck  with  the  daring  magnanimity  of  one 
relying  with  such  confidence  on  l:is  cause  and  his  fortune.  These  few 
words  convey  every  thing  accessary  to  give  us  the  impression  full. 

2.  Lucan  resolved  to  amplify  and  adorn  the  thouglit.  Obs«'rve  how 
every  tiine  he  twists  it  round,  it  departs  farther  from  the  sublime,  till  it 
end  at  last  in  tumid  declamation.  In  Rowe's  translation  the  passage- 
runs  thus: 

But  Caisar  still  superior  to  distress, 
IVarless,  ami  confulent  of  sure  succt  is, 
thus  to  tlio  pilot  loud:— 'llu-  seas  dts])iso, 
Anil  tht  vain  thrtutenin^  of  the  noisy  skies  : 
'i'hougli  go<ts  deny  thee  yon  Auionian  straud, 
Yet  go,  I  chargv  you,  go  at  n»y  command. 
Thy  iR:m)rance  alone  caa  cause  ihy  fears, 
Thou  know'si  not  nhat  a  freisrht  thy  vessel  bears  : 
I  hou  know'st  not  1  am  h'j  to  wlioia  "lis  given 
Never  to  want  the  cajt  of  watchful  heaven. 
Ohtdient  fortune  waits  ni)  hunibk>  thrall. 
And,  always  ready,  cor»f-4  Ix-fore  I  call. 
J.el  winds,  and  seas.loud  uars  at  freedom  wagf, 
And  waste  upon  themselves  their  empty  rage  ; 
A  strong^er.  miji^htier  dj  nion  is  thy  friend. 
Thou  and  thv  bark  on  Caesar's  fate  depend. 
Thou  stand'st  amazed  to  view  tliis  ctreadful  scene, 
And  wonder' st  what  the  Gods  and  Fortune  wean; 
But  artfully  their  bounties  thus  they  raise, 
And  from  my  dangvr  arrogate  new  praise  : 
Amidst  the  fears  of  death  the)-  bid  me  live, 
And  still  enhance  what  they  are  sure  to  give  ''* 

*  Sperne  minas,  inquit.  pelapi,  ventoque  furenti 
Trade  sinum  :  Italiam,  si,  coelo  auctore,  recusas. 
Me,  ]>ete.    Sola  tibi  causa  h%c  est  j  usta  timoris 


TY^e  Svhlime  hi  fFritmg.  515 

404.  On  account  of  the  great  importance  of  siiriplicity 
and  conciseness,  rhyme,  in  English  verse,  if  not  inconsistent 
with  the  sublime,  is^  at  least  very  unfavourable  to  it.  The 
constrained  elegance  of  this  kind  of  verse,  and  studied 
smoothness  of  the  sounds,  answering  regularly  to  each  oth- 
er at  the  end  of  the  line,  though  they  be  quite  consistent  with 
gentle  emotions,  yet  weaken  the  native  force  of  sublimity  ; 
besides,  that  the  superfluous  words  which  the  poet  is  often 
obliged  to  introduce  in  order  to  fill  up  the  rhyme,  tend  far- 
ther to  enfeeble  it. 

Example,  Homer's  description  of  the  nod  of  Jupiter,  as  shaking  the 
heavens,  has  been  admired  in  all  ages  as  highly  sublime.  Literally 
translated,  it  runs  thus:  ''He  spoke,  and  bending  his  sable  brows, 
gave  the  awful  nod  ;  while  he  shook  the  celestial  locks  of  his  imrnortal 
head,  all  Ol^ympus  was  shaken." 

Pope  translates  it  thus  : 

He  spoke ;  ami  awful  bends  his  sabk  brows. 
Shakes  his  ambrosial  curls,  and  gives  the  n«d, 
The  stamp  of  fate,  and  sanction  of  a  God. 
Hi)2:h  heaven  with  trtmbling  the  dread  signal  took, 
And  all  Oiympus  to  its  centre  shook. 

Analysis.  The  image  is  spread  out,  and  attempted  to  be  beautified  ; 
but  it  is,  in  truth,  weakened.  The  third  line — ''  The  sl^imp  of  fate,  and 
sanction  of  a  God,"  is  merely  repletivg  ;  and  introduced  for  no  other 
reason,  but  to  till  up  the  rhyme  ;  for  it  interrupts  the  description,  and 
clogs  the  image.  For  the  same  reason,  out  of  mere  compliance  with 
the  rhyme,  Jupiter  is  represented  as  shaking  his  locks  before  he  gives 
the  nod  ; — "  Shakes  his  ambrosial  curls,  and  gives  the  nod,"  which  is 
trifling,  and  without  meaning.  Whereas,  in  the  original,  the  hair  of  his 
nead  shaken,  is  the  effect  of  his  nod,  and  makes  a  happy  picturesque 
circumstance  in  the  description.'^ 

405,  The  boldness,  freedom,  and  variety  of  our  blank 
verse,  are  infinitely  more  fiivourable  than  rhyme  can  be  to 
all  kinds  of  sublime  poetry.  The  fullest  proof  of  this  is  affor- 
A&^  by  Milton;  an  author  whose  genius  led  him  eminently 
to  the  sublime.  The  whole  first  and  second  books  of  Para 
dise  Lost,  are  continued  instances  of  it. 

Example.  Take  only  for  an  example,  tlic  following  noted  descriptio;^ 
of  Satan  after  his  fall,  appearing  at  the  head  of  the  infernal  host- 

Victorem  ran  posse  tuum  t  quein  numina  nunquam 
Dtstituunt ;  de  quo  male  tunc  Fortuna  meretur 
Cum  post  vota  venit.     Medias  peiTumpe  procellas 
Tutela  secure  mei-    Cceli  iste  fretique 
Non  puppis  nostrse  labor  est.    Hanc  Casare  pressani 
A  Huctu  defendet  onus  ;  nam  proderit  uud's 
Iste  ratis  :  Quid  tanta  straj^e  paratur 
Ipnoras  ;  quaerit  pelag^i  ceeliqur  tumultii 
i^iiid  prsestet  fortuna  )nilii — Fhnrs,  V.  57S. 

*  See  Webb  on  the  Beauties  of  Poetry. 


t  The  Pleasures  of  Tmte^ 

-   .    -    -    He,  above  the  rest, 
In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 
Stood  like  a  towei-  :  his  form  had  not  yet  l<K>t 
AM  her  original  bvii^htnesa.  nor  appeared 
Less  than  archangel  ruined,  atid  the  excess 
Of  ghn  y  obseurtti ;  as  wher.  the  sun,  ncM  risen, 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air, 
^)horn  of  liis  Ijeaiiis  ;  or,  from  Ijelsind  the  moon, 
In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  tuilight  shetU 
On  half  the  nations,  and  ivith  fear  of  ehange 
Perplexes  nionarchs.    Darken'd  so,  yet  shone 
Above  them  all,  th' archangel.    -    •    -    - 

Anctli/sis.  Here  concur  a  variety  of  sonrccs  of  the  sublime  ;  the  jmn- 

cipa'  object  eminently    jjreat  ;  a  hig^h  superior  nature,  iallen   indeed; 

,.*   .„^.,:..„  -.^...u- — 'i:i.;t  distres3  ;  tlie   grandeur  of  the  principal  ob- 

iciuttng  it  with  so  noble  an  idea,  as  that  of  the 

'  ;  this  picture  shaded  with  all  those   images  ol' 

laugc  and  trouble,  of  darkness  and   terror,   which  coincide  so  finely 

1th    the    sublinie   emotion  ;  and   the   whole  expressed  in  a  style  and 

crsHication,  easy,  natural,  and  simj)le,  but  magnificent. 

40o.  Simplicity  and  conciseness  are  essential  to  sublwie 
\ivrititig;  (Jlrt.  403.J  hwt  strength  is  another  necessary 
equisite.  Tiie  strength  of  description  arises,  in  a  great 
Measure,  ft om  a  simple  conciseness;  but,  it  supposes  also 
oniething  more  ;  namely,  a  proper  choice  of  circumstances 
ill  the  description,  so  as  to  exhibit  the  object  in  its  full  and 
uiost  striking  point  of  view. 

Illus.  1.  For  every  object  has  several  faces,  so  to  speak,  by  which 
I  may  be  presented  to  us.  accordinjj  to  the  circumstanc  's  with  which 
'  may  be  surroui>ded  ;  and  it  will  appear  eminently  sublime,  or  not, 
I  proportion  as  all  these  circumstances  are  happily  chosen,  and  of  a 
iibiime  kind.  Here  lies  the  great  art  of  the  writer  :  and  indeed,  the 
reat  difljculty  of  sid>linie  description.  If  ihe  description  be  too  gen- 
ial, and  divested  of « ircumstuntes,  the  object  appears  in  a  faint  light  ; 
\  makes  a  feeble  impression,  or  no  imprcs*;ion  at  all,  on  the  reader. 
\t  tlie  same  time,  if  any  (» Ivia!  or  irapropcr  circumstances  arc  mingled, 
lie  whole  is  degraded. 

2.   A  storm  or   tern;  tance,  is  a  sublime   object  in  nature. 

:>ut,  to  render  it  siiblin.ic  m  iyv^  ription,  it  is  not  enough,  either  to  give 
s  mere  general  expressions  concerning  the  vio!on<e  of  the  tempest,  or 
:o  describe  it?  common  vidgar  efiVcts,  in  overthiowinjr  trees  and  hous- 
es. It  must  be  painted  with  such  circumstances  as  fdl  the  mind  with 
^reat  and  awful  ideas. 

Example.  This  is  very  happily  done  in  Ibe  following  passage. 

Ihe  Father  of  the  Gods  liis  glory  shrouds. 

Involved  in  temptsts.  and  a  night  of  clouds  : 

And 'rom  the  nii<ldledarkijtss  Hashing  out, 

By  f  IS  he  deals  his  fuiy  boltsabout. 

Earth  fivh  the  motions'of  htr  .lugry  God.        -) 

Her  tJitraiU  tn  iiible,and  her  mountains  not!,     J> 

And  11} ing  Inasts  in  forests  seek  abod<..  J 

Bc-ep  horror  seizes  tvery  human  breast; 

Th«  ir  pride  is  humbled,  and  their  fears  confest ; 

Vhile  he  from  high  his  rolling  thunder  throws, 

Aftd  fives  the  laou.ntaiiis  v.  iih  repeated  blow  s ; 


The  Sublime  in  Writing,  215 

The  rocks  are  from  tiieir  old  foundations  rent  j 

The  winds  redouble.and  the  rains  augrntnt.*        Dryden, 

Jimdijsis.  Eveiy  circumstance  in  this  noble  description  is  the  pro- 
<?iiction  of  an  iuiagiuaiion  heated  and  astonished  with  the  grandeur  of 
the  object. 

407.  The  sublime  depends  upon  a  just  selection  of  cir- 
cumstances ;  and  great  care,  in  writing,  that  every  circum- 
stance be  avoided,  which,  by  bordering  in  the  least  upon  the 
mean,  or  even  upon  the  gay  or  the  trifling,  might  alter  the 
tone  of  the  emotion. 

Illns.  1.  The  proper  sources  of  the  sublime  arc  to  be  looked  for 
every  where  in  nature.  It  is  not  by  hunting  aft«r  tropes  and  figures, 
and  rhetorical  assistances,  that  we  can  expect  to  produce  it.  No  :  it 
stands  clear  for  the  most  part  of  these  laboured  refinements  of  art.  It 
must  come  unsought,  if  it  coiiies  at  all ;  and  be  the  natural  offspring  of* 
a  strong  imagination. 

Est  Deus  in  nobis  ;  agltante'calesimus  illo. 

2.  Wherever  a  great  and  awful  object  is  presented  in  nature,  or  a 
very  magnanimous  and  exalted  affection  of  the  human  mind  is  display- 
ed ',  thence,  if  you  can  catch  the  impression  strongly,  and  exhibit  it 
warm  and  glowing,  you  may  draw  the  sublime.  These  are  its  only 
proper  sources.  In  judging  of  any  striking  beauty  in  composition, 
whether  it  is  or  is  not  to  be  referred  to  this  class,  we  must  attend  to  the 
nature  of  the  emotion  which  it  raises  ;  and  only  if  it  be  of  that  elevating, 
solemn,  and  awful  kind,  which  distinijuishes  this  feeling,  we  can  pro- 
nounce it  sublime. 

Sckolium.  From  the  account  which  has  been  given  of  the  nature  of 
the  sublime,  it  clearly  follows,  that  it  is  an  emotion  which  can  never 
be  long  protracted.  The  mind  by  no  force  of  genius,  can  be  kept,  for 
any  considerable  time,  so  far  raised  above  its  common  tone  ;  but  will, 
of  course,  relax  into  its  ordinary  situation.  Neither  are  the  abilities 
of  any  human  writer  sufficiewt  to  furnish  a  long  continuation  of  unin- 
terrupted sublime  ideas.  The  utmost  we  can  expect,  is,  that  this  fire 
of  imagination  should  sometimes  flash  upon  us  like  lightning  from  hea- 
ven, and  then  disappear.  In  Homer  and  Milton,  this  efiulgence  of 
geni<is  breaks  forth  more  frequently,  and  with  greater  lustre  than  in 
most  authors.  Shakespeare  also  rises  often  into  the  true  sublime. 
But  no  author  whatever  is  sublime  throughout.  Some,  indeed,  there 
are,  who,  by  a  strength  aiid  dignity  in  their  conceptions,  and  a  cur- 
rent of  high  ideas  that  runs  through  their  whole  composition,  preserve 
the  reader's  mind  always  in  a  tone  nearly  allied  to  the  sublime  ;  for 
which  reason  they  may,  in  a  limited  sense,  merit  the  name  of  contin- 
ued sublime  writers  ;  and  in  this  class  we  may  justly  place  Demosthenes 
and  Plato. 

408.  As  for  what  is  called  the  sublime  style,  it  is,  for  the 
most  part,  a  very  bad  one  ;  and  has  no  relation  whatever  to 
the  real  sublime. 

*  Ipse  Pater,  media  nimborum  in  nocte,  corusea 
Fulraina  molituv  dextri  ;  quo  maxima  raotu 
Terra  tremit  ;  fugere  fetiie  ;  et  mortaJia  corda 
Per  gentts  humilis  stravit  pavor :  ille  fiagi'anti 
Aut  Atho,  ant  Rodopcn,  aut  alta  Ceraunia  telu 

Pejicit. .— —  Geoi'S'-  /. 

19^ 


;  G  The  Pleasures  of  Task, 

Illus.  Persons  are  apt  to  imagine  that  magnificeiu  woraS;  accuiini' 
lated  epithets,  and  a  certain  swelling  kind  oi'  expression,  by  rising 
above  what  is  usual  or  vulgar,  contributes  to  the  sublime  ;  nay,  even 
forms  this  style.  Nothinjj  can  be  more  Jalse.  In  all  the  instances  ot 
sublime  writing,  which  we  have  given,  nothing  of  this  kind  appears. 
Example.  "  God  said  let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light.' 
Jinalifsis.  This  is  striking  and  sublime.  But  put  \\  into  what  is  com- 
monly called  the  sublime  style  :  ''  The  sovereign  Arbiter  ot  nature,  by 
the  potent  energy  of  a  single  word,  commanded  the  light  to  exist  ;" 
and,  a^  Boileau  has  well  observed,  the  style  indeed  is  raised,  but  the 
thought  is  fallen. 

Coral.  1.  In  general  in  all  good  writing,  the  sublime  lies  in  the 
thought,  not  in  the  words  ;  and  when  the  thought  is  truly  noble,  it  will, 
for  the  most  part,  clothe  itself  in  a  native  dignity  of  language.  The 
sublime,  indeed,  rejects  mean,  low,  or  trivial  expressions  ;  but  it  is 
equally  an  enemy  to  such  as  are  turgid.  Tbe  main  secret  of  being 
sublime,  is  to  say  great  things  in  few  and  plain  words. 

2.  It  will  be  found  to  hold,  without  exception,  that  the  most  sublime 
authors  are  the  simplest  in  their  style  ;  and  wherever  you  find  a  writer, 
\\\\o  affects  a  more  than  ordinary  pt»mp  and  parade  of  words,  and  is 
I'ways  endeavouring  to  magnity  his  subjrct  by  epithets,  there  you  may 
nimediately  snspect,  that,  feebie  in  sentimcut,  he  is  studying  to  sup- 
port himself  by  mere  expression. 

409.  The  snme  unfavourable  judg:ment  we  must  pass  on 
all  that  laboured  apparatus  with  which  some  writers  intra- 
<!tice  a  passage  or  description,  which  they  intend  shall  be 
-iiblime;  calling  on  their  itiaders  to  attend,  invoking  theiu 
nuse,  or  breaking  forth  into  general,  unmeaning  exclama- 
ions,  concerning  the  greatness,  terribleness,  or  majesty  of 
liC  object,  whicii  they  are  to  describe. 

Example.  Addison,  in  his  Campaign,  has  fallen  into  an  error  of  this 
ind,  when  about  to  describe  the  battle  of  Blenheim  : 

ButO!  niv  Mils**  1  what  nwrnbei-s  wilt  thou  finU 
To  siiiK  li»c  furious  troops  in  ImtTlt' jonv'd  ? 
iVletbiiiKs  I  hear  the  drum's  tuinuhuous  souiiU, 
The  victor's  shout«.  and  dying  groans,  conrotuid  ;  &c. 

JJnali/sis.  Introductions  of  th's  kind,  are  a  forced  attempt  in  a  writer 
o  si)ur  up  himself,  and  his  reader,  when  he  finils  his  imagination  be- 
,in  to  Hag.  It  is  like  taking  artificial  spirits  in  order  to  supply  the 
\ant  of  such  as  are  natural.  By  this  observation,  however,  it  is  not 
aeant  to  pass  a  general  censure  on  Addison's  Campaign,  which,  in 
evoral  places,  is  far  from  wanting  merit  ;  and,  in  particular,  ihc  no- 
id  comparison  of  his  hero  to  the  angel  who  rides  in.  the  whirlwind 
»ud  directs  the  storm,  is  a  truly  sublime  iniHge. 

410.  The  faults  opposite  to  the  sublime,  are  chiefly  two  ; 
tiist,  the fri iri,i ;  and,  secondly,  the  bombast, 

Illus.  1.  The  frigid  consists  in  degrading  an  object,  or  sentiment, 
which  is  publime  in  itself,  by  our  weak  conception  of  it;  or,  by  our 
weak,  low.,  and  childish  description  of  it.  This  betrays  entire  absence, 
or  at  least;  great  poverty  of  genius.     (Sec  Art.  2U4.) 


i.  Bombast  lies  iii  forcing  an  ordinary  or  trivial  object  oiilofiis 
iank,  and  endeavouring-  to  raise  it  into  t'lo  snbliine  ;  or,  in  attempting, 
to  exalt  a  sublime  object  beyond  all  natural  and  reasonable  bounds. 
Into  this  error,  which  is  but  too  common,  writers  of  genius  may  some- 
times fail,  by  unluckily  losing  sight  oi"  the  true  point  of  tlie  sublime. 
This  is  also  called  fiistain,  or  rant.  Shakespeare,  a  great  but  incorrect 
i,'^finius,  is  not  unexceptionable  here,  Dryden  and  Lee,  in  their  trage- 
dies, abound  with  it.     (See  Chapter  VIII.  Book  III) 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BEAUTY,  AND  OTHER  PLEASURES  OF  TASTE. 

411.  BEAUTY,  next  to  sublimity,  affjrds,  beyond  doubt., 
the  highest  pleasure  to  the  imagination.  The  emotion  which 
it  raises,  is  very  distinguishable  from  that  of  sublimity.  It 
is  of  a  calmer  kind  ;  more  gentle  and  soothing;  it  does  not 
elevate  the  mind  so  much,  but  produces  an  agreeable  sereni* 
iy»  vSublimity  raises  a  feeling  too  violent  to  be  lasting:  the 
pleasure  arising  from  beauty  admits  of  longer  continuance. 
It  extends  also  to  a  much  greater  variety  of  wljjects  than 
sublimity  ;  to  a  variety  indeed  so  great,  that  the  feelings 
which  beautiful  objects^  produce,  diii'er  considerably,  not  in 
degree  only,  but  also  in  kind,  from  one  anotlier.  Hence,  no 
word  in  the  lani>;uao;e  is  used  in  a  more  va^ue  si^nilication 
than  beauty. 

liliis.  It  is  applied  to  almost  every  external  object  that  pleases   the 

eye,  or  the  ear  ;  to  a  great  number  of  the  graces  of  wrrting;  to  many 

iispositions  of  the  mind;   nay,  to  several  objects  cf  mere  abstract  sci- 

nce.     We  talk  currently  of  a  beautiful  tree,  or  flower;  a  beautiful  po- 

•  in  ;  a  beautiful  character  ;  and  a  beautiful  threorem  isi  mathematics. 

Scholia  1.  lienco  we  may  easily  perceive,  \hat,  amou^'r  so  great  a 
yarietj^  of  objects,  to  find  out  som^  one  quality  in  which  they  al!  agrec^ 
and  which  is  the  founflation  of  that  agreeable  sensation  they  ail  raise, 
must  be  a  very  diflicult,  if  not,  more  probably,  a  vain  attempt. 

2.  Objects,  denominated  beautiful,  are  so  different,  as  to  please,  not 
in  virtue  of  any  one  quality  common  to  them  all,  but  by  means  of  sev- 
eral different  principles  in  human  nature.  The  agreeable  emotion 
which  they  all  raise,  is  somewhat  of  the  same  nature  ;  and,  therefore, 
has  the  common  name  of  beauty  given  to  it ;  but  it  is  raised  by  differ- 
ent causes. 

412.  Hypotheses,  however,  have  been  framed  by  ingenious 
Rien,  for  assigning  the  funtlamental  quality  of  beauty  in  all 
objects.  In  particular,  iiivforniUif  amidst  variety^  has  been 
insisted  on  as  this  fundamental  quality.  This  accounts,  in 
a  satisfactory  manner,  for  the  beauty  of  many  figures. 


a  1 8  llie  Pleasures  of  Taste. 

Jllns.  But  when  we  endeavour  to  apply  this  principle  to  beautifi.i 
o!>jects  of  some  other  kind,  as  to  colour^  for  instance,  or  motion,  wc 
shall  soon  find  that  it  ha>  no  place.  And  even  in  external  fisfured  ob- 
jects, it  does  not  hold  that  their  beauty  is  in  proportion  to  tlieir  mix- 
ture of  variety  with  uniformity  ;  seeing  many  please  us  as  hig:hly  beau- 
lifid,  which  have  scarcely  any  variety  ;  and  others,  which  are  various 
to  a  dcg-ree  of  intricacy. 

065.  I^aying  systems  of  this  kind,  therefore,  aside,  we  propose  to 
give  an  enumeration  of  several  of  those  classes  of  objects  in  which 
beauty  most  remarkably  appears;  and  to  point  out,  as  far  as  the  limits 
of  this  work  will  admit,  the  separate  principles  of  beauty  in  each  of 
Uiem. 

413.  Colour  affords,  perhaps,  the  simplest  instance  of 
beauty,  and  therefore  the  fittest  to  begin  with.  Here,  nei- 
ther variety,  tior  uniformity,  nor  any  other  principle,  can 
perhaps  be  assigned,  as  the  foundation  of  beauty. 

Illus.  1.  We  can  refer  it  to  no  other  cause  except  the  structure  of 
liic  eye,  which  determines  us  to  rcfeive  certain  modifications  of  the 
rays  of  light  with  more  pleasure  than  others.  And  we  see  according- 
ly, that,  as  the  organ  of  seusHtion  varies  in  difTerent  persons,  they  have 
iieir  different  favourite  colours.  It  is  probable,  that  association  of 
leas  has  influence,  in  some  cases,  on  the  pleasure  which  we  receive 
liom  colours. 

Example.  Green,  for  instance,  may  appear  more  beautiful,  by  being 
<  oniiected  in  our  ideas  with  rural  prospects  and  scenes;  white,  with  in- 
nocence ;  blue,  with  the  serenity  of  the  sky. 

lUus.  2.  Independent  of  associations  of  this  kind,  all  that  we  can 
trther  observe  concerning  colour.*,  is,  that  those  chosen  for  beauty 
ue,  generally,  delicate  rather  than  glaring. 

Example.  Such  are  those  paintings  with  which  nature  hath  orna- 
iiontt^d  some  of  her  works,  and  which  art  strives  in  vain  to  imitate  ; 
-  the  feathers  of  several  kinds  of  birds,  the  leaves  of  flowers,  and  the 
ne  variation  of  colours  exhibited  by  the  sky  at  the  rising  and  setting 
i   ti?c  sjui. 

Corol.  These  present  to  us  the  highest   instances  of  the  beauty  of 
olourinsr;  and  have  accordingly  been  the  favourite  subjects  of  poeti- 
.  .il  description  in  all  countries. 

414.  From  colour  we  proceed  to  figure ^  which  opens  to 
us  forms  of  beauty  more  complex  and  diversified. 

415.  REGULAun  Y  of  figure  first  occurs  to  be  noticed  as  a 
<ource  of  beauty. 

Illu3.  1.  By  a  regular  figure,  is  meant,  one  which  we  perceive  to  be 
forme*!  according  to  some  certain  rule,  and  not^left  arbitrary,  or  loose, 
in  the  construction  of  its  parts. 

Example.  Thus,  a  circle,  a  square,  a  triangle,  or  a  hexagon,  pleases 
the  eye,  by  its  regularity,  as  a  beautiful  figure. 

,'Jnali/sis.  We  must  jiot,  however,  conclude,  that  all  figures  please  in 

roportion  to  their  regidarity  ;  or   that   regularity  is  the  sole,  or  the 

iiief   foundation   of   beauty   in   figure.      On   the   contrary,  a    certain 

•-■raceful   variety  is  found   to  be   a  much    more   powerful    principle   of 

beauty;  and  is  therefore  studied  a  great  deal  more  than  regularity,  in 

all  works  that  are  designed  to  please  the  eye. 


Beauty.  219 

fllus.  2.  Regularity  appears  beautiful  to  us,  chiefly,  if  not  only,  on 
account  of  its  sug-gesting  the  ideas  of  Jitncss^propriily,  and  use — qual- 
ities which  have  always  a  greater  connection  with  oiderly  and  pro- 
portioned forms,  than  w'lih  those  which  appear  not  constructed  j.rtard- 
ing  to  any  certain  ruh?.  It  is  clear  that  Nature,  who  is  li.idoabtedly 
tlie  most  graceful  artist,  hath,  in  all  her  ornamental  works,  pursued 
variety,  with  an  apparent  neglect  of  regularity. 

Examples.  Cabinets,  made  after  a  regular  form,  it)  cubes,  d6ors,  and 
windows,  constructed  in  the  form  of  parallelograms,  with  exact 
proportion  of  parts,  by  being  so  formed,  please  the  eye  :  the  reason  is 
obvious  ;  being  works  of  use,  they  are,  by  such  figures,  the  better  suit- 
ed to  the  ends  for  which  they  were  desigited.  But  plants,  flower's,  and 
leaves,  are  fuil  of  variety  and  diversity.  A  straight  canal  is  an  insipid 
iigure,  in  comparison  of  the  meanders  of  rivers.  Cones  and  pyramids 
arc  beautiful ;  but  trees,  growing  in  their  natural  wildness,  are  infi- 
nitely more  beautiful  than  when  trimmed  into  pyramids  and  cones; 
as  is  the  fashion,  for  instance,  in  almost  all  gardens  and  pleasure- 
gronnds.  The  apartments  of  a  house  must  be  regular  in  their  disposi- 
tion, for  the  conveniency  of  its  inhabitants;  but  a  garden,  which  is  de- 
signed merely  for  beauty,  is  exceedingly  disgusting,  when  it  has  as 
much  uniformity  and  order  in  its  parts  as  a  dwelling-house.* 

416.  Hogarth,  in  his  Analysis  of  Beauty,  has  observed, 
that  figures,  bounded  by  curve  lines,  are,  in  general,  more 
beautiful  than  those  bounded  by  straight  lines  and  angles. 

Illus.  He  pitches  upon  two  lines,  on  which,  according  to  him,  the 
beauty  of  figure  principally  depends  ;  and  he  has  illustrated  and  sup- 
ported his  doctrine,  by  a  surprising  number  of  instances. 

Example  1.  The  one  is  the  waving  line,  or  n  curve  bending  back- 
wards and  forwards,  somewhat  in  Ihe  form  of  the  letter  S. 

Analytis.  This  he  calls  the  line  of  beauty  ;  and  shows  how  often  it  is 
found  in  shells,  flowers,  and  such  other  ornamental  works  of  nature  ; 
and  how  common  it  also  is  in  the  figures  designed  by  painters  and 
sculptors,  for  the  purpose  of  decoration. 

Example  2.  The  other  line,  which  he  calls  tiie  line  of  grace,  is  the 
former  waving  curve,  twisted  round  some  solid  body.  The  curling 
worm  of  a  common  jack  is  one  of  the  instances  he  gives  ofit.  Twist- 
ed pillars,  and  twisteii  horns,  also  exhibit  it. 

^^nalysis.  In  all  the  instances  v/hicb  he  mentions,  varieiy  plainly  ap- 
pears to  be  so  material  a  principle  of  beauty  that  he  seems  not  to  err 
much  when  he  defines  the  art  of  drawing  pleasing  forms,  to  be  the  art 
of  varying  well  For  the  curve  line,  so  nincli  the  favourite  of  paint- 
ers, derives,  according  to  him,  its  chief  advantjige,  front  its  perpetual 
bending  and  variation  from  the  stiff  regularity  of  the  straight  line. 

417.  Motion  furnishes  another  source  of  beauty,  distinct 
from  figure.  Motitm  of  itself  is  pleasing;  and  bodies  in 
motion  are, "  casteris  paribus,^^  preferred  to  those  in  rest.  It 
is,  however,  only  gentle  motion  that  belongs  to  the  beautiful ; 
for,  vvhen  it  is  very  swift,  or  very  forcible,  such  as  that  of  a 
torrent,  it  partakes  of  the  sublime,     {lllus,  2.  ./?/7.  392.) 

*  Sec  Lord  Karnes's  Elements  of  Criticism,  vol.  ii.  chap.  31 


^20  The  Pleasures  of  Taste, 

Example  I.  The  motion  of  a  bird  g;\'i6ing  throw^^h  the  au'  rs  e:<- 
trcmely  heaiitil'ul;  the  swiftness"  with  which  lightning  darts  through  the 
^icavens  is  magnificent  and  astonishing. 

Ohs.  And  here  it  is  proper  to  observe,  that  the  sensations  of  sublime 
111  ;>eauliful  are  not  always  distinguished  by  Tcry  distant  boundaries  } 
it  r.re  capable,  m  several  instances,  of  approaching  towards  each 
■'':er. 

Example  2.  Thus,  a  smooth  running  stream  is  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful objects  in  nature  :  as  it  swells  gradually  into  a  great  river,  the 
beautiful,  by  degrees,  is  lost  in  the  sublime. 

3.  A  young  tree  is  a  beautiful  object  ;  a  spreading  ancient  oak  is  a 
venerable  and  a  grand  one. 

4.  The  ciilmness  of  a  fine  morning  is  beautiful ',  the  universal  still- 
ness of  the  evening  is  highly  sublime. 

Illus.  But  to  return  to  the  beauty  of  motion,  it  will  be  found  to  hold, 

I  y  generally,  that  motion  in  a  straight  line  is  not  so  beautiful  as  in 

II  undulating  waving  direction  ;  and    motion  upwards  is,  commonly 

foo,  more  agreeable  than  motion  downwards. 

Example  6.  The   easy  curling  motion  of  flame  and  smoke  may  be 

instanced,  as  an  object  sing«darly  agreeable;  and  here  Mr    Hogarth's 

waviiiir  line  recurs  upon  us  as  a  principle  of  beauty, 

Corol.  That  artist  observes,  very  ingeniously,  that  all  the  common 
id  necessary  motions  for  the  business  of  life,  are  performed  by  men 
.   straight  or  plain  lines  ;  but  that  all  the   graceful  and  ornamental 

Knoveraents  are  made  in  waving  lines  ;  an  observation  not  unworthy  of 

bemg  attended  to.  by  all  who  study  the  grace  of  gesture  and  action. 

418.  Thoujih  colour,  figure,  and  motion,  be  separate  prin- 
iples  of  beauty ;   yet  in  many  beautiful  objects  they  all 
meet,  and  thereby  render  the  beauty  both  greater  and  more 
complex. 

Example  1.  Thus,  in  flowers,  trees,  and  animals,  we  are  entertained 
nt  once  with  the  delicacy  of  the  colour,  with  the  gracefulness  of  the 

nre,  and  sometimes  also  with  the  motion  of  the  object. 

.inaliisis.  Although  each  of  these  produces  a  separate  agreeable  sen- 
->rttion,  yet  they  are  of  such  o  similar  nature,  as  readily  to  mix  and 
blend  in  one  general  perception  of  beauty,  which  we  ascribe  to  the 
whole   object  as  its  cause:  for  beauty  is  always   conceived   by  us  as 

mcthing  residing  in  the  object  which  raises  the  pleasant  sensation  ; 

sort  of  glory  which  dwells  upon  it,  and  that  invests  it. 

Example  2.  Perhaps  the  most  complete  assemblage  of  beautiful  ob- 
jects that  can  any  where  be  found,  is  presented  by  a  rich  natural  land- 
'^^ipe,  where  there  is   a  sufficient  variety  of  objects:  fields  in  verdure, 

altered  trees  and  flowers,  running  water,  and  animals  grazing. 

.'hiali/sis.  If  to  these  be  joined  some  of  the  productions  (»f  art  which 
suit  such  a  scene,  as  a  "bridge  with  arches  over  a  river,  smoke  rising 
from  cottages  in  the  midst  of  trees,  and  the  distant  view  of  a  fine  build- 
ing seen,  at  the  same  time,  wiih  the  rising  sun;  we  then  enjoy,  in  the 
highest  perfection,  that  gay,  cheerful,  and  placid  sensation  which  char- 
acterises beauty. 

Corol.  To  have  an  eye  and  a  taste  formed  for  catching  the  peculiar 
beauties  of  such  scenes  as  these,  is  a  necessary  requisite  fcr  all  who  at- 
tempt poetical  description 


Beauty.  t3-21 

419.  The  beauty  of  the  human  countenance  is  more  com- 
plex than  any  that  we  have  yet  considered.  It  includes  the 
beauty  of  colour,  arising  from  the  delicate  shades  of  the  com- 
plexion; and  the  beauty  of  figure,  Rvisin^  fronv  the  lines 
which  form  the  different  features  of  the  face.  But  the  chief 
beauty  of  the  countenance  depends  upon  a  mj^sterious  ex- 
pression, which  it  conveys,  of  the  qualities  of  the  mind;  of 
good  sense,  or  good  humour;  of  sprightliless,  candour,  be- 
nevolence, sensibility,  or  other  amiable  dispositions. 

Jinalysis.  How  it  comes  to  pass,  that  a  certain  conformation  of  fea- 
tures is  connected  in  our  idea  with  certain  moral  qualities  ',  whether 
we  are  taught  by  instinct,  or  by  experience,  to  form  this  connection^, 
and  to  read  the  mind  in  the  countenance,  belongs  not  to  us  now  to  in- 
quire, nor  is  it  indeed  easy  to  resolve.  The  fact  is  certain,  and  ac- 
knowledged, that  what  gives  the  human  countenance  its  most  distin- 
guishing beauty,  is,  what  is  called  its  exy)ression  ;  or  an  image,  which 
it  is  conceived,  to  shew  of  internal  moral  dispositions. 

Scholia  1.  This  leads  us  to  observe,  that  there  are  certain  qualities 
of  a  mind,  which,  whether  expressed  in  the  countenance,  or  by  words, 
or  by  actions,  always  raise  in  us  a  feeling  similar  to  that  of  beauty, 

2.  There  are  two  great  classes  of  moral  qualitie.s ;  one  is  of  the  high 
and  the  great  virtues,  which  require  extraordinary  efibrts,  and  turn 
upon  dangers  and  sufferings  ;  as  heroism^  magnanimity,  contempt  of 
pleasures,  and  contempt  of  death.  These  excite  in  the  spectator  an 
emotion  of  sublivnity  and  grandeur.     (Illus.  Art.  396.) 

3.  The  other  class  is  generally  of  the  social  viirues,  and  such  as  are 
of  a  softer  and  gentler  kind;  as  compassion,  mildness,  friendship, 
uiid  generosity.  These  raise  in  the  beholder  a  sensation  of  pleasure, 
so  much  akin  to  that  produced  by  beautiful  external  objects,  that, 
thoJigh  of  a  more  dignified  nature,  it  may,  without  impropriety,  be 
dassed  under  the  same  head. 

420.  A  species  of  beauty,  distinct  from  any  that  we  have 
yet  mentioned,  arises  from  design,  or  art ;  or,  in  other  words, 
from  the  perception  of  means  being  adapted  to  art  end ;  or 
the  parts  of  any  thing  being  well  nttetl  to  answer  the  design 
of  the  whole. 

Illus.  When,  in  considering  the  structure  of  a  tree,  or  a  plant,  we 
observe  how  all  the  parts,  the  roots,  the  stem,  the  bark,  and  the  leaves, 
are  suited  to  the  growth  and  nutriment  of  the  whole  ;  much  more 
when  we  survey  all  the  parts  and  members  of  a  living  rniimal;  or 
wlien  we  examine  any  of  the  curious  works  of  art;  such  as  a  clock, 
a  s^up,  Oi  any  nice  machine  ;  the  pleasure  we  have  in  the  survey 
is  wholly  *t.unded  on;  this  sense  of  beauty.  It  is  altogether  differ- 
ent from  the  perception  of  beauty  produced  by  colour,  figure,  variety, 
or  any  of  the  causes  formerly  mentioned. 

Analysis.  When  you  look  at  a  watch,  for  instance,  the  case  of  it,  if 
finely  engraved,  and  of  curious  workmanship,  strikes  you  as  beautiful 
in  tiie  fornser  sense  j  bright  colo':*.,  f-xquisito  polish,  figures  fi'iely  rais- 
ed and  turned.  But  when  you  examine  the  spring  and  the  wheels,  and 
cxatoint  the  beauty  of  the  internal  machinery  ;  your  pleasiite  then 


222  TJie  Pkasvres  of  Taste, 

arises  wholly  from  the  view  of  that  admirable  art  with  which  so  manv 
various  and  complicated  parls  are  made  to  unite  for  one  purpose. 

421.  This  sense  of  beauty  in  fitness  and  design,  has  an 
extensive  influence  over  nkanj  of  oui  ideas.  It  is  the  foun- 
dation of  the  beauty  which  we  discover  in  the  proportion  of 
doors,  wlndotvs,  arches,  pillars,  and  all  the  orders  of  archi- 
tecture, 

lUus.  I.  Let  the  ornaments  of  a  building  be  ever  so  fine  and  eleg^ant 
in  themselves,  yet  if  they  interfere  with  this  sense  of  fitness  and  desig-n, 
they  lose  their  beauty,  and  hurt  the  eye  like  disag:reeable  objects. 

2.  Twisted  columns,  for  instance,  are  undoubtedly  ornamenta!  ;  but 
as  they  have  an  appearance  of  weakness,  thoy  always  displease  when 
they  are  made  use  of  to  support  any  part  of  a  building;  that  is  massy, 
and  that  seems  to  require  a  more  substantial  prop. 

3.  We  cannot  look  upon  any  work  wiiatever,  without  being  led,  by 

I  natural  association  of  ideas,  to  think  of  its  end  and  desig^n,  and  of 
ourse  to  examine  tiie  propriety  of  its  parts,  in  relation  to  this  desijEfn 

vuul  end  ^Vhen  their  propriety  is  clearly  discerned,  the  work  seems 
always  to  have  some  beauty  ;  but  when  there  is  a  total  want  of  pro- 
priety, it  never  fails  of  appearing;  deformed. 

4.  Our  sense  of  fitness  and  design,  therefore,  is  so  powerful,  and 
holds  ^o  high  a  rank  among  our  perceptions,  as  to  regulate  in  a  great 
measure,  our  other  ideas  of  beauty.  This  observation  is  of  the  utmost 
importaace.  to  all  who  study  compo.^ition.  For  in  an  epic  poem,  a 
history    an  oration,  or  any  work  of  genius,  we  always  require,  as  we  do 

II  other  works,  a  fitness,  or  adjustment  of  means,  to  the  end  which  the 
uthor  is  supposed  to  have  in  view.  Let  his  descriptions  be  ever  so 
!<  h,  or  his  figures  ever  so  elegant,  yet  if  they  are  out  of  phice,  if  they 
re  not  proper  parts  of  that  whole,   if  they  suit  not   the  main  design, 

ilicy  lose  all  their  beauty  ;  nay,  from  beauties  they  are  converte*!  into 
jlo.^ormitics.  Such  power  has  our  sense  of  fitness  and  congruity,  to 
produce  a  total  transformation  of  an  object  whose  appearance  other- 
wis''  would  have  been  beautiful. 

422.  After  having  mentioned  so  many  various  species  of 
beauty,  it  now  only  remains  to  take  notice  of  beauty,  as  it 
is  applied  to  writi?ig  or  discourse  ;  a  term  commonly  used 
in  a  sen.se  altogether  loose  and  undetermined.  For  it  is 
nnplied  ro  all  that  pleases,  either  in  style  or  in  sentiment, 
!iom  whatever  principle  that  pleasure  flows  ;  and  a  6eflw/t- 
/// pnein  or  oration  mmnr*,  in  common  tan gua:^''.  no  other 
ihan  .1  good  'me,  or  07%e  wdl  compose  L 

/i/w9.  1.  In  this  8ens»e.  it  is  plain,  the  word  is  altogether  indefinite, 
and  points  at  no  naMici'hir  species  or  kind  of  beauty. 

i!  There  is,  however,  another  sense,  somewhat  more  definite,  iu 
which  beautv  o{  v/riting  characterises  a  particulai-  manner  ;  when  ii 
is  used  .to  signify  a  certain  grace  and  aii^nity,  in  the  turn  either  of 
style  or  sentiment,  for  which  some  authors  have  been  peculiarh'  distin- 
guish-i^. 

3.  In  this  si-nae,  it  denotes  a  manner  neither  remarkably  sublime, 
nbr  vehemently  passionate,  nor  uncommonly  sparkling ;  but  iiich  as 


Beauty.  ^23 

i.a>scs  in  the  reader  nn  emotion  of  the  gentle  placid  kind,  similar  to 
what  is  raised  by  the  contemplation  of  beautiful  objects  in  nature ; 
which  neither  lifts  the  mind  very  high,  nor  agitates  it  very  much,  but 
diffuses  over  the  imagination  an  agreeable  and  pleasing  serenity. 

Scholia  1.  Addison  is  a  writer  altogether  of  this  character  ;  and  is 
one  of  the  most  proper  and  precise  examples  that  can  be  given  of  it. 
Fcnelon,  the  author  of  the  Adventures  of  Telemachus,  may  be  given 
lis  another  example.  Virgil  too,  though  very  capable  of  rising  on  oc- 
casions into  the  sublime,  yet,  in  his  general  manner,  is  distinguished  by 
the  character  of  beauty  and  grace,  rather  than  of  sublimity.  Among 
orators,  Cicero  has  more  of  the  beautiful  than  Demosthenes,  whose 
genius  led  him  wholly  towards  vehemence  and  strength. 

2.  This  much  it  is  sufficient  to  have  said  upon  the  subject  of  beauty. 
We  have  traced  it  through  a  variety  of  forms  ;  because  next  to  sub- 
limity, it  is  the  most  copious  source  of  the  pleasures  of  taste  ;  and  be- 
cause the  consideration  of  the  different  appearances,  and  principles  of 
beauty,  tends  to  the  improvement  of  taste  in  many  subjects. 

3.  But  it  is  not  only  by  appearing  under  the  forms  of  sublime  or 
beautiful,  that  objects  delight  the  imagination.  From  several  other 
principles,  also,  they  derive  their  power  of  giving  it  pleasure. 

423.  Novelty,  for  instance,  has  been  mentioned  by  Ad- 
dison, by  Kames,  and  bj  every  writer  on  this  subject.  An 
object  that  has  no  merit  to  recommend  it,  except  its  being 
uncommon  or  new,  by  means  of  this  quality  alone,  produces 
in  the  mind  a  vivid  and  an  agreeable  emotion.  Hence  that 
passion  of,  curiosity,  which  prevails  so  generally  among 
mankind. 

Jllus.  Objects  and  ideas  which  have  been  long  familiar,  make  too 
faint  an  impression  to  give  an  agreeable  exercise  to  our  faculties. 
New  and  strange  objects  rouse  the  mind  from  its  dormant  state,  by 
giving  it  a  quick  and  pleasing  impulse.  Hence,  in  a  great  measure, 
the  entertainment  afforded  us  by  fiction  and  romance.  The  emotion 
raised  by  novelty  is  of  a  more  lively  and  pungent  nature  tlian  that 
j)roduced  by  beauty  ;  but  much  shorter  in  its  continuance.  For  if  the 
object  have  in  itself  no  charms  to  liold  our  attention,  the  shining  gloss 
thrown  upon  it  by  novelty  soon  wears  off. 

424.  Besides  novelty,  imitation  is  another  source  of 
pleasure  to  taste.  This  gives  rise  to  what  are  termed,  the 
secondary  pleasures  of  imagination  ;  which  form,  doubt- 
less, a  very  extensive  class. 

Illus.  For  all  imitation  affords  some  pleasure ;  not  only  the  imitation 
af  beautiful  or  great  objects,  by  recalling  the  original  ideas  of  beauty 
or  grandeur  which  such  objects  themselves  exhibited  ;  but  even  ob- 
jects whi'.h  have  neither  beauty  nor  grandeur,  nay,  some  which  are 
terrible  or  deformed,  please  us  in  a  secondary  or  represented  view. 

425.  The  pleasures  of  we/orfi/ and  harmony  belong  also 
to  taste.  There  is  no  agreeable  sensation  we  receive  either 
from  beauty  or  sublimity,  but  what  is  capable  of  being 
heightened  by  the  power  of  musical  sound.     Hence  the  de- 

20 


^24  The  Fleqsttres  of  Taste, 

light  of  poetical  numbers  ;  and  even  of  the  more  concealed 
and  looser  measures  of  prose.  ,    ♦  ,^  jj.   ,< 

426.  TVity  /aimour,  and  ridicule,  likewise  open  a  vanety' 
to  pleasures  of  taste,  quite  distinct  from  any  that  we  have" 
jet  considered. 

42r.  Wit  is  a  quality  of  certain  thoughts  and  cxpres 
sions  ;  the  term  is  never  applied  to  an  action,  nor  to  a  pas- 
sion ;  far  less  to  an  external  object.^ 

Illus.  1.  WVf  is  a  term  appropriated  to  such  thoughts  and  cxpre«-. 
sions  as  are  hidicrous,  and  also  occasion  some  degree  of  surpriic  bx; 
their  sing^ularity. 

2.  Wit  also,  in  a  figurative  sense,  expresses  a  tRient  for  inrenting 
hidicrous  thoughts  or  expressions  :  we  say  commonly  a  loift-t/  niaiiy  ov". 
a  vifin  of  wit.  Iludibras  is  a  man  of  wit ;  FaUtaff  is  a  witty  man  r, 
^xvift  is  both,  f 

3.  Wit)  in  its  proper  sense,  as  explained  above,  is  distinguishable  in- 
to two  kinds  ;  wit  in  tlie  thought,  and  tcit  in  the  words  or  expresaioiif..^  \ 

4.  Again  :  wit  in  tht  thoug:hl,  is  of  two  kin<ls  ;  ludicro~us  image*,  an«l 
ludicrous  combinations,  that  have  little  or  no  natural  relation. 

5.  Ludicrous  images,  which  surprise  by  their  singularity,  are  fabri- 
-^atcd  by  the  imagination  ;  and  ludicrn}ts  combinations  arf  such  an  as- 
semblage of  ideas  or  of  things,  as  by  distant  and  fanciful  relations, 
surprise,  because  they  are  unexpected. 

428.  Humour.  Nothing  just  or  projier  is  denominated 
humour;  nor  any  singularity  of  character,  words,  or  actiona 
that  is  valued  or  respected. 

Illus.  1.  When  we  attend  to  the  character  of  an  humoiHist,  we  find 
ihat  it  arises  from  circumstances  both  risible  and  impro|>er,  and  therC' 
V)re  that  it  lessens  the  man  in  o.:  <st<ei!i,  a 'ui  makcfthkn  income 
ncasurc  ridiculous.  ><>:•.    j.    :      v/i   , 

2.  A  ludicrous  writer  is  one  who  insists  upon  ludicron^  '  *  t^  with 
the  jirofessed  purj>ose  to  make  his  readers  laugh  ;   a  u-r  umr 

IS  one,   who,   alTocting  to  be  grave  and  serious,  paints  ;    ;  __.^.:t:s  iu 
such  colours  as  to  provoke  mirth  and  laughter. 

Example.  Switt  and  Fontaine  were  humourists  in  character,"  and 
their  writings  arc  full  of  humour.  Arbuthnot  outdoes  them  in  drollery 
and  humourous  painting  ;  but  he  who  should  say  that  Addison  was  an 
humourist  in  character,  would  be  suspected  of  mistaki!-^  '  ■'■  "  ' '^  ^^ 
nuts  for  chcsnul  horses. 

4'29.  HiDiciTLE.  A  visible  object  produceth  an  cniouuu 
of  laughter  merely,  a  ridiculous  object  is  improper  as  welbas 
risible,  and  produceth  a  mixed  emotion,  which  is  vented  by 
a  laugh  of  derision  or  scorn.t 

Ohs.  Durlc^qut  is  xgreat  engine  of  ridicule  :  it  is  distinguishable  in- 
to the  burle.stjue  that  excites  laughter  merely,  and  the  burlesque  that 
provokes  derision  or  ridicule.  .       ' 

Examples.  Virgil  Travestie,  and4h§  Lutrin,  are  compositions  Whi<?l^ 

*  Karnes*  Essnys.  chap.  13.  vol  I.  .  ,       . 

-f  Arlst.  P9eu  c'h.  5.  Cicero  etc  Oratore,  1.2.  QninctUtftD,  llW  6.  eSp.  " 


Beauiy.  225 

<:.;.fce  Glider  this  article.  The  Rape  of  the  Lock  is  not  strictly  biir 
lesque,  but  an  heroic-comical  poem.  Addisoirs  Sptdator*  on  the  Fan 
is  extremely  gay  and  ludicrous. 

Scholium.  This  singular  advantage  u^riting  and  discourse  possess, 
that,  in  every  point  of  view,  they  encompass  a  large  and  rich  field,  in 
respect  to  the  pleasures  of  taste*;  and  have  power  to  exhibit,  in  great 
perfection,  not  a  single  set  of  objects  only,  but  ahnost  the  whole  of 
those  which  give  pleasure  to  taste  and  imagination  :  whether  that 
pleasure  arise  from  sublimity,  from  beauty  in  its  different  forms,  from 
design  and  art,  from  moral  sentinnmt,  from  novelty,  from  harmony, 
from  wit,  hnmour,  and  ridicule.  To  whichsoever  of  these  the  peculiar 
bent  of  a  person's  taste  lies,  from  some  wriTer  or  other  he  has  it  al- 
way-  in  his  power  to  receive  the  gratification  of  his  taste. 

430.  The  high  power  which  eloquence  and  poetry  pos- 
sess, of  supplying  taste  and  imagination  with  an  extensive 
circle  of  pleasures,  they  derive  altogether  from  their  having 
a  greater  capacity  of  ihdtation  and  description  than  is  pos- 
sessed by  any  other  art. 

Illus.  1.  Of  all  the  means  which  human  ingenuity  has  contrived  for 
recalling  the  images  of  real  objects,  and  :iwakening,  by  representa- 
tion, similar  emotions  to  those  which  are  raised  by  the  original,  none 
is  so  full  and  extensive  as  that  which  is  executed  by  words  and  writing. 
Through  the  assistance  of  this  happy  invention,  there  is  nothing,  either 
in  the  natural  or  in  the  moral  world  that  cannot  be  represented  and 
set  before  the  mind,  in  colours  very  strong  and  lively. 

Corel.  Hence  it  is  usual  among  critical  writers  to  speak  o{  discourse. 
as  the  chief  of  all  the  imitative  or  mimical  arts  ;  they  compare  it  with 
painting  and  with  sculpture,  and  in  many  respects  prefer  it  justly  be- 
fore them. 

Illus.  2.  Imitation  is  performed  by  means  of  something  that  has  a 
natural  likeness  and  resemblance  to  the  thing  imitated;  and  of  conse- 
quence is  understood  by  all  :  statues  and  pictures,  are  examples  of 
likenesses. 

2.  Description,  again,  is  the  raising  in  the  mind  the  conception  of  an 
<^bject  by  means  of  some  arbitrary  or  instituted  .symbols,  understood 
only  by  those  who  agree  in  the  institution  of  them  ;  such  are  words 
hud  writing. 

3.  Words,  though  copies,  (Art.  432.)  have  no  natural  resemblance 
t«  the  ideas  or  objects  which  they  are  employed  to  signify  ;  but  a 
statue  or  picture  lias  a  natural  likeness  to  the  original.  And  therefore 
imitation  and  description  differ  considerably  in  their  nature  from  each 
..ther. 

431.  As  far,  indeed,  as  the  poet  introduces  into  his  work 
persons  actually  speaking  ;  and,  by  the  words  which  he  puts 
into  their  mouths,  represents  the  discourse  which  they  might 
be  supposed  to  hold  ;  so  far  his  art  may  more  accurately  be 
called  imitative  ;  and  this  is  the  case  in  all  dramatic  com- 
position. But,  in  narrative  or  descriptive  works,  it  can  with 
no  propriety  be  called  so. 


£6f  The  Pleasures  of  Taste. — Beauty: 

(Has.  1.  Who,  for  instance,  would  call  Virgil's  description  of  a  fcm- 

est,  in  the  first  iEneid,  an  imitation  of  a  storm  ?    U  we  heard  of  the 

nitation  of  a  battle  we  mi^ht  naturally  think  of  some  sham-fight,  or 

i  epresentation  of  a  battle  on  the  stage,  but  could  never  apprehend  that 

it  meant  one  of  Homer's  descriptions  in  the  Iliad. 

2.  But  imitation  and  description  agree  in  their  principal  effect,  of  re- 
ailing,  by  external  signs,  the  ideas  of  things  which  they  do  not  see. 
'Jilt  though  in  this  they  coincide,  yet  it  should  not  be  forgotten,  that 
he  terms  themselves  are  not  synonymous  ;  that  they  import  different 
leans  of  efiecting  the  same  end  ;  and  of  course  make  different  impres- 
-ions  on  the  mind. 

Scholium.  Whether  we  consider  poetry  in  particular,  and  discourse  \n 
,eneral,as  imitative  or  descriptive  ;  it  is  cvideiit,  that  their  whole  pow« 
r  in  recalling  the  impressions  of  real  objects,  is  derived  from  the  sig- 
ificancy,  the  choice  and  arrangement  of  words.  Their  excellency 
'.  jws  altogether  from  these  sources.  Having  shewn  how  the  source 
nay  be  preserved  puie,  we  shall,  in  the  next  book,  enter  upon  style 
'M»!  elonurnrr  'u  thfir  mo?t  c\tenj-ivo  »iirniricatien 


^KYl. 


THE  GENERAL  CHARACTERS  OF  STYLE. 


CHAPTER  L 

•THE  DIFFUSE  AND   CONCISE   STYLES. 

432.  AVORDS  being  the  copies  of  our  idecfs,  there  must 
always  be  a  very  intimate  connection  between  the  manner 
in  wliich  we  employ  words,  and  our  manner  of  thinking. 
From  the  peculiarity  of  thought  and  expression  which  be- 
longs to  every  writer,  there  is  a  certain  character  imprinted 
on  his  style,  which  may  be  denominated  his  manner  ^  com- 
monly expressed  by  such  general  terms  as  strong,  weak,  dry^ 
simple^  affectedy  or  the  like. 

IJlus.  TJiese  distinctions  carry,  in  g-eneral,  some  reference  to  an  aii- 
tlior's  manner  of  thinking-,  hut  refer  chiefly  to  his  mode  of  expiession. 
They  arise  from  the  whole  tenor  of  his  languag^e  ;  and  comprehend 
the  efTcct  produced  by  all  those  parts  of  style  which  we  have  ahv?ady 
considered  ;  tJie  choice  which  he  makes  of  single  words  ;  his  ariange- 
inent  of  these  in  sentences  ;  the  degree  of  h  isprecision  ;  his  embellish- 
ment, by  means  of  musical  cadence,  fl^i^ures,  or  other  arts  of  speech  ; 
and,  finally,  the  cultivation  of  his  genius  and  taste.  Of  such  general 
characters  of  style,  therefore,  it  remains  now  to  speak,  as  the  result  of 
those  elementary  parts  of  which  we  have  hitherto  treated. 

433.  That  different  subjects  require  to  be  treated  of,  in 
different  sorts  of  style,  is  a  position  so  obvious,  that  it  needs 
no  illustration.  Every  one  sees  that  treatises  of  philosophy, 
for  instance,  ought  not  to  be  composed  in  the  same  style 
with  orations.  Every  one  sees  also,  that  different  parts  of 
the  same  composition  require  a  variation  in  the  style  and 
manner.  In  a  sermon,  or  any  harangue,  as  shall  be  shewn 
hereafter,  the  application  or  peroration  admits  more  orna- 
ment, and  requires  more  warmth,  than  the  didactic  part. 

Obs.  But  what  we  mean  at  present  to  remark  is,  that,  amidst  this  va- 
riety, we  still  expect  to  find,  in  the  compositions  of  anv  cue  man;  some 
20* 


;J28  The  general  Characters  of  Style. 

degree  of  uniformity  or  consistency  with  himself  in  manner  ;  wc  expect 
to  find  impressed  on  all  his  writings,  some  predominant  character  of 
style  which  shall  be  suited  to  his  particular  genius,  and  shall  mark  the 
turn  of  his  mind. 

Example.  The  orations  in  Livy  differ  much  in  style,  as  they  ought  to 
do,  from  the  rest  of  his  history.  The  same  is  the  case  with  those  in 
Tacitus.  Yet  both  in  Livy's  orations,  and  in  those  of  Tacitus,  we  are 
able  clearly  to  trace  the  distinguishing  manner  of  each  historian  ;  the 
magnificent  fullness  of  the  one,  and  the  sententious  conciseness  of  the 
other. 

Corol.  Wherever  thcie  is  real  and  native  genius,  it  gives  a  determin- 
ation to  one  kind  of  style  rather  than  another.  Where  nothing  of  this 
appears  ;  where  there  is  no  marked  nor  peculiar  character  in  the  com- 
positions of  any  author,  we  are  apt  to  infer,  and  not  without  reason^ 
that  he  is  a  vulgar  and  trivial  author,  who  writes  from  imitation,  and 
not  from  the  impulse  of  original  genius.  As  the  most  celebrated 
painters  are  known  by  their  hand,  so  the  best  and  most  original  wri- 
ters are  known  and  distinguished,  throughout  all  their  works,  by  their 
st^le  an^  peculiar  manner.  This  will  be  found  to  hold  almost  without 
exception. 

434.  One  of  the  first  and  most  obvious  distinctions  of  the 
different  kinds  of  st^le,  is  what  arises  from  an  author's 
spreading  out  his  thoughts  more  or  less.  This  distinction 
forms  what  are  called,  the  diffuse  and  the  concise  styles. 

Illus.  1.  A  concise  writer  compressei^  his  thoughts  into  the  fewest  pos* 
!ble  words  ;  he  seeks  to  employ  none  but  such  as  are  most  expressive? 
«'  lops  off,  as  redundant,  every  expression  which  does  not  add  some- 
hing  material  to  the  sense. 

Oniaaient  he  does  not  reject  ;  he  may  be  lively  and  figured  ;  but  his 
ornament  is  inten<le<l  for  the  sake  of  force  rather  than  grace. 

He  never  gives  you  the  same  thought  twice.  He  places  it  in  the 
light  which  appears  to  him  the  most  striking  ;  but  if  you  do  not  appre- 
hend it  well  ;n  that  light,  you  need  not  expect  to  find  it  in  any  other. 

His  .sentences  are  arranged  with  compactness  and  strength,  rather 
than  with  cadence  and  harmony.  The  utmost  precision  is  studied  i.i 
them  ;  and  they  are  commonly  designed  to  suggest  more  to  the  read- 
er's imagination  than  they  directly  express. 

liliiif.  2.  A  diffuse  writer  unfolds  his  thought  fully.  He  places  it  in 
1  variety  of  lights,  and  gives  the  reader  every  possible  assistance  for 
understanding  it  completely.  He  is  not  very  careful  to  express  it  at 
rtrst  in  its  full  strength  ;  because  be  is  to  repeat  the  impression  ;  and 
what  he  wants  In  strength  he  proposes  to  supply  by  copiousness. 

Writers  of  this  character  generally  love  magnificence  and  amplifica- 
tion. Their  periods  naturally  run  out  into  some  length,  and  having 
room  for  ornament  of  every  kind,  they  admit  it  freely. 

Scholium.  Each  of  these  manners  has  its  peculiar  advantages  ;  and 
each  becomes  faulty  when  carried  to  the  extreme.  The  exireme  of  con- 
ciseness becomes  abrupt  and  obscure  ;  it  is  apt  also  to  lead  into  a  style 
too  pointed,  and  bordering  on  the  epigrammatic.  The  extreme  of  dif- 
fuseness  becomes  weak  and  languid,  and  tires  the  reader.  However, 
to  one  or  other  of  these  two  manners,  a  writer  may  lean  according  as 
his  genius  prompts  him  :  and  under  the  general  character  of  a  concise, 
or  of  a  more  open  and  diffuse  style,  he  may  possess  much  beauty  in  his 
conopositioD 


Tlie  Diffuse  and  Concise  Styles.  ^^9 

435.  For  illustrations  of  these  general  characters,  we  can 
onlj  refer  to  the  writers  who  are  examples  of  them.  It  is 
not  so  much  from  detached  passages,  such  as  we  have  been 
quoting  as  examples  in  the  foregoing  pages  of  this  grammar, 
as  from  the  current  of  an  author's  style,  that  we  are  to  col- 
lect the  idea  of  a  formed  manner  of  writing. 

Illus,  1.  Two  of  the  most  remarkable  examples  of  conciseness,  car- 
ried as  far  as  propriety  will  allow,  perhaps  in  some  cases  farther,  are 
Tacitus,  the  Historian,  and  the  President  Montesquieu  in  "  L'Espritde 
Loix."  Aristotle,  too,  holds  an  eminent  rank  among  didactic  writers 
for  his  brevity.  Perhaps  no  writer  in  the  world  was  ever  so  frugal  of 
his  words  as  Aristotle  ;  but  this  frugality  of  expression  frequently  dark- 
ens his  meaning. 

2.  Of  a  beautiful  and  magnificent  diffuseness,  Cicero  is,  beyond 
doubt,  the  most  illustrious  instance  that  can  be  given.  Addison,  alsOj^ 
and  Sir  William  Temple  come,  in  some  degree,  under  this  class. 

436.  In  judging  when  it  is  proper  to  lean  to  the  concise, 
and  when  to  the  diffuse  manner,  we  must  be  directed  by  the 
nature  of  the  composition.  Discourses  that  are  to  be  spoken 
require  a  more  copious  style  than  books  that  are  to  be  read. 

Illus.  When  the  whole  meaning  must  be  caught  from  the  mouth  of 
the  speaker,  without  the  advantage  which  books  afford  of  pausing  at 
pleasure,  and  reviewing  what  appears  obscure,  great  conciseness  is  al- 
ways to  be  avoided.  We  should  never  presume  too  much  on  the  quick- 
ness of  our  hearer's  understanding  ;  but  our  style  ought  to  be  suchj 
that  the  bulk  of  men  can  go  along  with  us  easily,  and  without  effort. 

Corol.  A  flowing  copious  style,  therefore,  is  required  in  all  public 
speakers  ;  guarding,  at  the  same  time,  against  such  a  degree  of  diffu- 
sion as  renders  them  languid  and  tiresome  ;  which  will  always  prove 
to  be  the  case,  when  they  inctdcate  too  much,  and  present  the  same 
thought  under  too  many  different  views. 

437.  In  v/ritten  compositions,  a  certain  degree  of  concise- 
ness possesses  great  advantages.  It  is  more  lively  ;  keeps 
up  attention  ;  makes  a  brisker  and  stronger  impression  ; 
and  gratifies  the  mind  by  supplying  more  exercise  to  a 
reader's  own  thought  A  sentiment,  which,  expressed  dif- 
fusely, will  barely  be  admitted  to  be  just,  will,  when  ex- 
pressed consisely,  be  admired  as  spirited.  Description, 
when  we  want  to  have  it  vivid  and  animated,  should  be  in  a 
concise  strain. 

Illus.  ).  This  is  different  from  the  common  opinion  ;  most  persons 
being  ready  to  suppose,  that  upon  description  a  writer  may  dwell 
more  safely  than  upon  other  topics,  and  that,  by  a  full  and  extended 
style,  it  is  rendered  more  rich  and  expressive.  On  the  contrary,  a  dif- 
fuse manner  generally  weakens  description.  Any  re<lundant  words  or 
circumstances  encumber  the  fancy,  and  make  the  object  that  we  pre- 
sent to  it,  appear  confused  a>nd  indistinct, 

2.  Accordingly,  the  most  masterly  describers,  Homer,  Tacitus, 
Milton,  are  almost  always  concise  ih  their  descriptioas,    They  shew 


S30  The  general  Characters  of  Style. 

us  more  of  an  object  at  oiif:  glance,  than  a  feeble  diffuse  writer  Cfto 
shew,  by  turning  it  round  and  exliibiting^  it  in  a  variety  of  lights. 

Corol.  The  strength  and  vivacity  of  description,  whether  in  prose  or 
poetry,  depend  much  more  upon  the  happy  choice  of  a  few  striking: 
circumstances,  than  upon  their  mutiplicity  and  variety. 

438.  Addresses  to  the  passions,  likewise,  ooght  to  be  in 
the  concise,  rather  than  the  diffuse  manner.  In  these  it  is- 
dangerous  to  be  diffuse,  because  it  is  very  difficult  to  sup- 
port proper  waiinth  for  any  length  of  time.  When  we  be- 
come prolix,  we  are  always  in  hazard  of  cooling  the  reader. 
The  fancy  and  the  feelings  of  the  heart  too,  run  fast  ',  and 
if  once  we  can  put  them  in  motion,  they  supply  many  par- 
ticulars to  greater  advantage  than  an  author  can  display 
them.  The  case  is  diff'erent  when  we  address  ourselves  to 
the  understanding:  as  for  exam[)h'  in  all  matters  of  reason- 
ing, explication,  and  instruction. 

Obs.  lu  these  cases,  tliat  most  eleganr  nuioncian.  Dr.  Bi.nr,  would 
prefer  a  more  free  and  diffuse  manner.  When  you  are  to  strike  the 
fancy,  or  to  move  the  heart,  be  concise  ;  when  you  are  to  inform  the 
under.«tanding,  which  moves  more  slowly,  and  requires  the  assistance 
of  a  guide,  it  is  better  to  be  full.  Historical  narration  may  be  beauti- 
ful, either  in  a  concise  or  a  ditTuse  manner,  according  to  the  writer's 
genius.  Livy  aiid  HerodoCus  are  diffuse  ;  Thucy«lides  and  Sallust  are 
succinct  ;  yet  all  of  them  are  agreeable. 

439.  A  diffuse  style  generally  abounds  in  long  periods  ; 
and  a  concise  writer,  it  is  certain,  w  ill  often  employ  short 
sentences. 

Ohs.  But  of  long  and  short  sentences,  we  had  occasion,  formerly  to 
treat,  under  the  head  of"  The  Construction  of  IVriods."  (^ee  Chapler 
I.  and  the  Harmony  of  Periods,  Chapler  IX.  Book  III.) 

440.  The  non^oxis  and  \\\q  feeble  are  generally  held  to  be 
characters  of  style,  of  the  same  import  with  the  concise  and 
tlie  diffuse.  They  do  indeed  very  often  coincide.  Diffuse 
writers  have,  for  the  most  part,  some  degree  of  feebleness  ; 
and  nervous  writers  will  generally  be  inclined  to  a  concise 
mode  of  expression. 

Illiis.  1.  This,  however,  does  not  always  hold  ;  and  there  are  instan- 
ces of  writers,  who,  in  the  midst  of  a  full  and  ample  style,  have  niaio- 
tained  a  great  degree  of  strength.  Their  style  may  have  many  faults. 
It  may  be  unequal,  incorrect,  and  redundant,  but  w)thal,  for  force  and 
cxpres.-iiveness,  uncommonly  distinguished.  On  every  subject,  they 
win  multiply  words  with  aii  overflowing  copiousness  ;  but  they  ever 
pour  fortli  a  torrent  of  forcible  ideas  and  significant  expressions. 

2.  Indeed,  the  foundations  of  a  nerTous  or  a  weak  style  are  laid  in 
an  author'.-  mannr  r  of  thinking.  If  he  conceives  an  object  vigorously, 
he  will  express  it  with  energy  :  but  if  he  has  only  an  indistinct  view  of 
his  subject  ;  if  his  ideas  be  loose  and  wavering  ;  if  his  genius  be  such, 
or,  at  the  time  of  his  w  riling,  so  carelessly  exerted,  that  be  has  no  firm 


t 


The  Diffme  and  Concise  Styles.  531 

hold  of  the  conception  which  he  wouUl  communicate  to  us,  the  marks 
of  all  this  will  clearly  appear  in  his  style.  Several  unmeaning  words 
and  loose  epithets  will  be  found  in  his  composition  ;  his  expressions 
will  be  vague  and  general ;  his  arrangement  indistinct  and  feeble  ;  we 
shall  conceive  a  portion  of  his  meaning,  but  our  conception  will  be  faint. 
3,  Whereas  a  nervous  writer,  whether  he  employs  an  extended  or  a 
concise  style,  gives  us  always  a  strong  impression  of  his  meaning  ; 
his  mind  is  full  of  bis  subject,  and  his  words  are  all  expressive )  every 
phrase  and  Gwery  figure  which  he  uses,  tends  to  render  the  picture^ 
which  he  would  set  before  us,  more  lively  and  complete. 

441.  Undor  the  head  of  diffuse  and  concise  style,  (Art, 
436.  and  43 T.)  we  have  shewn  that  an  author  might  lean 
either  to  Ihe  one  or  to  the  other,  and  yet  be  beautiful.  This 
is  not  the  case  with  respect  to  the  nervous  and  the  feeble. 
Every  author,  in  every  composition,  ought  to  study  to  ex- 
press himself  with  some  strength,  and  in  proportion  as  he 
approaches  to  the  feeble,  he  becomes  a  bad  writer. 

Obs.  In  all  kinds  of  writing,  however,  the  same  degree  of  strength  is 
not  demanded.  But  the  more  grave  and  weighty  any  composition  is, 
the  more  should  a  character  of  strength  predominate  in  the  style. 
'  Carol.  Hence,  in  history,  philosophy,  and  solenni  discourses,  it  is 
chiefly  expected.  One  of  the  most  complete  models  of  a  nervous  style, 
is  Demosthenes  in  his  orations. 

442.  Every  good  quality  in  style,  when  pursued  too  far, 
has  an  extreme,  to  which  it  becomes  faulty,  and  this  Ivolds 
of  the  nervous  style  as  well  as  of  other  styles.  Too  great  a 
study  of  strength,  to.the  neglect  of  other  qualities  of  style, 
is  found  to  betray  writers  into  a  harsh  manner. 

IU}(s.  Harshness  arises  from  unusual  \vords,  from  forced  inversions 
in.the  construction  of  a  sentence,  and  too  much  neglect  of  smoothness 
^)il,ease.  This  is  reckoned  the  fault  of  some  of  our  earliest  classics 
in  (he  English  language;  writers  who,  from  the  nerves  and  strength 
which  they  have  displayed,  arc,  to  this  day,  eminent  for  that  quality 
in  style.'  But  the  language  in  their  hands  was  exceedingly  different 
from  what  it  is  now,  and  was  indeed  entirely  formed  upon  the  idionx 
and  construction  of  the  Latin,  in  the  arrangement  of  sentences.  The 
j)i-\ssent  form  which  the  language  has  assumed,  has,  in  some  measure, 
sacrificed  tjie  study  of  strength  to  that  of  perspicuity  and  ease.  Our 
arrangement  of  words  has  become  less  forcible,  perhaps,  but  more 
plain  and  natural  :  and  this  is  now  understood  to  be  the  genius  of  our 
language. 

443.  The  restoration  of  King  Charles  II.  seems  to  be  the 
fera  of  the  formation  of  our  present  style.  Lord  Clarendon 
was  one  of  the  first  who  Kiid  aside  those  frequent  inversions 
which  prevailed  among  writers  of  the  former  age.  After 
him,  Sir  William  Temple  polished  the  language  still  more. 
But  Dryden  is  the  author,  who,  by  the  number  ant!  reputa- 
tion of  his  works,  formed  it  more  than  any  of  his  predeces- 
sors or  contemporaries,  into  its  present  state. 


232  The  general  Characters  of  Style, 

Illus.  1.  Dryden  began  to  write  at  the  Restoration,  and  confiimed 
long  an  author  both  in  poetry  and  prose.  Me  had  made'the  Iringnagc 
his  study  ;  and  though  he  wrote  hastily,  and  often  incoriertly,  though 
his  style  is  not  free  from  faults,  yet  (hore  is  a  richness  \n  t»is  fiiction,  a 
copiousness,  ease,  and  variety  in  his  expression,  which  has  not  been 
surpassed  by  any  who  have  come  after  him  * 

2.  Since  his  time,  considerable  attention  has  bf^en  paid  to  purity  and 
elegance  of  style  ;  but  it  is  elegance  raJhei'  t^an  strength,  that  forms 
the  distinguishing  quality  of  most  of  the  good  Enfirl^sh  writers.  Some 
of  them  compose  in  a  more  manly  and  nervous  manner  than  others  ; 
but,  whether  it  be  from  the  genius  of  our  language,  o\  from  whatever 
other  ciiitsr,  it  apTjpai-s,  that  uc  are  far  from  the  gtrengi\i  »i  several  »i 
the  G. 


CHAPTER  IL 

OF  THE  r:  '>  FLOWERY 

444.  HmiER'l  ()  we  have  considered  stvle  under  those 
characters  that  respect  its  expr evasiveness  of  an  author's 
meaning.  Let  us  now  proceed  to  consider  it  in  another 
view,  with  respect  to  the  degree  of  ornament  employed  to 
beautifj  it.  Ilere,  the  style  of  different  authors  seems  to 
)ise,  in  the  following  gradation  :  a  dry,  a  plain,  a  keat, 
an  ELEGANT,  and  a  flowery  manner.  Of  each  of  these  in 
its  order. 

445.  First,  a  dry  manner.  This  excludes  ornament  of 
every  kind.  Content  with  being  understood,  it  has  not  the 
least  aim  to  please,  either  the  fancy  or  the  ear.  This  is  tol- 
erable only  in  pure  didactic  wri'.inc^ ;  and  even  there,  to 
>nake  us  bear  it,  great  weiglit  and  solidity  of  matter  are  re- 
quisite; and  entire  perspicuity  of  language. 

lUns.  1.  Aristotle  is  the  most  complete  exaiuvu  of  u  o, 
Never,  perhaps,  was  there  any  author  who  adhered  so  \-\^\i\\\  to  \V< 
frictncss  of  a  didactic  manner  throughout  all  his  writings,  and  con- 
»eyed  so  much  instruction,  without  the  least  approach  to  brnauicnt 
With  the  most  prolound  genius  and  extensive  views,  ht  irr'/ej,  says  Dr. 
HIair,  like  a  pare  intelli'^ejice,  who  addressees  himself  soUdy  to  the  un 
dersian«lin;r,  wiihout  making  any  use  of  the  channel  of  the  imagination 

2.  iJut  tliis  is  a  manner  which  deserves  not  to  be  imitated.     For,  al- 

*  Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  life  of  Dryden;  Cj-ives  the  fbllo'.ving  character  of  hi'*  prose  style  . .. 
"  His  prefaces  have  not  the  formality  of  a  settled  style,  in  \v|iictt  the  first  knlf  of  the 
^^n^l•npe  beirays  the  other.    'Vhc  t'iaus<-s  are  never  biilancetl,  nor  the  peri."' 
i  :  every  word  si-enis  to  drop  by  chauce,  though  it  thlls  into  its  prop«.r  f 
hinp  h  cold  or  laufjuid,  the  whole  'f*  airy,  animatetl,  Jind  Ai;for'.»u  ;  \Nh.ii  . 
;;iy  ;  what  is  great,  ii  splendid.     I'hough  aU  is  easy,  nothiii^   is  fetble  ;  'i.c  i-m  .»; 
t'ms  careless,  there  is  nothing  harsh  ;  and  though,  siace  his  earlier  work«,mort  than 
<:cnurry  has  passed,  ihey  have  DO,tMn^  yet  uneouih  or  obsolete.'" 


The  dry,  plight,  neat,  and  elegant  Styles,         ^33 

t«migh  the  goodness  of  the  matter  may  compenaate  the  dryness  or 
hatshness  of  the  Style,  yet  is  that  dryness  a  consider^ible  defect ;  as  it 
fatigues  attention,  and  conveys  our  sentiments,  with  disadvantage,  to 
the  reader  or  hearer. 

44Q.  A  PLAIN  STYLE  riscs  one  degree  above  a  dry  style. 
A  writj^r  of  this  character  employs  very  little  ornament  of 
any  kind,  and  rests  alinost  entirely  upon  his  sense.  But,  if 
he  is  at  no  pains  to  engage  us  by  the  employment  of  figures, 
inusical  arrangement,  or  any  other  art  of  writing,  he  studies, 
iitoweyer,  to  avoid  disgusting  us  like  a  dry  and  a  harsh  wri- 
ter. Besides  perspicuity,  he  pursues  propriety,  purity,  and 
precision,  in  his  language ;  which  form  one  degree,  and  no 
inconsiderable  one,  of  beauty.  Liveliness  too,  and  force, 
may  be  consistent  with  a  very  plain  style  :  and  therefore* 
such  an  author,  if  his^entinients  be  good,  may  be  abundant- 
ly agreeable. 

Ohs,  The  difference  between  a  dry  and  plain  writer,  is,  that  the  for- 
mer is  incapable  of  ornament,  and  seems  not  to  know  what  it  is  ;  the 
latter  seeks  not  after  it.  He  gives  us  his  meaning  in  good  languagCj 
tHstinct  and  pure  ;  he  gives  himself  no  farther  trouble  about  ornament ; 
either,  because  he  thinks  it  unnecessary  to  his  subject;  or  because  his 
g-enius  does  not  lead  him  to  delight  in  it  ;  or,  because  it  leads  him  to 
despise  it. 

447.  What  is  called  a  neat  style  comes  next  in  order ; 
and  here  we  have  arrived  in  the  region  of  ornament;  but 
that  ornament  not  of  the  highest  or  most  sparkling  kind. 

Illus.  1.  A  writer  of  this  character  shews,  that  he  does  not  despise 
♦lie  beauty  of  language.  It  is  an  object  of  his  attention.  But  his  at- 
tention is  shewn  in  the  choice  of  words,  and  in  a  graceful  collocation 
t^jtliem  ;  rather  fhan  in  any  high  efforts  of  imagination,  or  eloquence. 

,  %.  His  sentences  are  always  clean,  and  free  from  the  incumbrance 
©{'superfluous  words  ;  of  a  moderate  length  ;  rather  inclining  to  brev- 
ity, than  a  swelling  structure  ;  closing  with  propriety  ;  without  any 
appendages,  or  adjections  dragging  after  the  proper  close. 
'».  His  cadence  is  varied  ;  but  not  of  the  studied  musical  kind. 
4.  His  figures,  if  he  uses  aiiy,  are  short  and  correct  ',  rather  than 
t)old  and  glowing. 

^\^^fhoHa  1.  Such  a  style  as  this  may  be  attained  by  a  writer  who  has 
.Ho.great  powers  of,  fancy  or  genius  ;  merely  by  industry  and  careful 
attention  to  the  rules  of  writing,  and  it  is  a  style  always  agreeable. 
,.^^..  It  imprints  e^  character  of  moderate  elevation  on  our  composition, 
Afl^c^irrit^?  ^  <^'^cejit  degree  of  ornament,  which  is  not  unsuitable  to 
any  subject  whatever. 

.3.  A  familiar  letter,  or  a  Hyy  paper,  on  the  dryest  subject,  may  be 
wVitten  with  neatness  *,  and  a  sermon  or  a  philosophical  treatise,  in  a 
lieat  style,  will  be  read  with  pleasure. 

448.  An  ELEGANT  stylb:  is  a  character  expressing  a  high- 
er degree  of  ornament  than  a  neat  one  ;  and,  indeed,  is  the 


554  The  general  Characters  of  Style, 

term  usually  applied  to  style,  when  possessing  all  the  virtues 
of  ornament,  without  any  of  its  excesses  or  defects. 

Jllus.  1.  From  what  has  been  formerly  delivered,  it  will  easily  bt 
understood,  that  complete  elegance  implies  great  perspicuity  and  pro-" 
priety  ;  purity  in  the  choice  of  words,  and  care  and  dexterity  in  their 
harmonious  and  happy  arrangement.  It  implies,  farther,  the  grace 
and  beauty  of  imagination  spread  over  style,  as  far  as  the  subject  ad- 
mits display  ;  and  all  the  illustration  which  fig^urative  language  adds, 
when  properly  employed.       . 

2.  In  a  word,  an  elegant  writer  is  one  who  pleases  the  fancy  and 
the  ear,  while  he  informs  the  understanding;  and  who  gives  us  his 
ideas  clothed  witli  all  the  beauty  of  ex])ression,  but  not  overcharged 
with  any  of  its  misplaced  finery* 

449.  When  tiie  ornaments,  applied  to  a  style,  are  too  rich 
and  gaudy  in  proportion  to  the  subject  ;  when  they  return 
upon  us  too  fast,  and  strike  us  either  with  a  dazzling  lustre, 
or  a  false  brilliancy,  this  forms  what  is  called  a  florid 
r.TYLE  ;  a  term  comwioniy  used  to  signify  the  excess  of  or- 
nament. ' 

Obs.  In  a  youn^  composer  this  is  very  pardonable.  Perhaps  it  \% 
even  a  promi.>iu;^'^  symptom  in  young  people^  that  their  style  should  in- 
cline to  the  florid  and  iuxuriunt.  Much  uf  it  will  be  diminished  by 
years  ;  much  will  be  corrected  by  ripening  judgment  ;  some  of  it,  by 
the  mere  practice  of  composition,  will  be  worn  away.  Let  there  be, 
at  first,  only  sufficient  matter  that  ran  bdar  sonle  pruning  and  lo})ping 
off.  At  this  time  of  life,  let  genius  be  bold  and  inveniive,  and  pride 
itself  in  it;)  efforts,  though  thet^e  should  not,  nsj'ct,  bt^  correct..  Uw^- 
uriancy  can  easily  be  cured  ;  but  for  barrenness  there  is  no  remedy. t 

450.  But,  although  the  Jlorid  style  may  be  allowed  to 
south,  in  iheir  first  essays,  it  must  not  receive  the  same  in- 
dulgence from  writers  of  maturer  years.  It  is  to  be  expect- 
ed, that  judgment,  as  it  ripens,  siiould  chasten  imagination, 
and  reject,  as  juvenile,  all  such  ornaments  as  are  redundant, 
unsuitable  to  the  subject,  or  not  conducive  to  its  illustration. 

Obs.  1.  Nothing  can  be  more  contemptible  than  that  tinsel  splendour 
rtf  language,  which  some  writers  perpetually  aiTect.  If  were  w'elf,  if 
this  could  be  ascribed  to  the  real  overflowing  of  a  rich  hnagination. 
We  should  then  have  something  to  amuse  us,  at  least,  if  we  found  little 
to  instruct  us.  But  the  worst  is,  that  with  those  frothy  writers,  it  is  a 
luxuriancy  of  woids,  not  of  fancy.  . 

2.  We  iee  a  laboured  attempt  iiithiese  Write r«  tn  vic«  fo  o  splen- 
dour of  composition,  of  which  llieyhiVe  formed  >bme 

*  Iti  t     .    i  t^v    Ijci-ffore.  we  place  onfy  the  fint-rate  writers  in  ■  -ii 

as  A<i.  i.   Po])e    Temple.   BolinehiTikf.  Atterbury.  C;» 

Blaii.         ..  >  .lit.  ;:nd  a  f'sv  moiv:  \v;lt  r^  who  diiffi- widi  !x  ,    r 

iu  Md  .y  ol  tl'..   HU..'  .  ;        >  i    r  uMit-r  the  dt  iium- 

inaiion  of  elei^nt.  ^  ',r  spnu.  place. 

■\-  ^•I<ihum  intle  ('.  -  ,  >  t  Jut  usii  ipso  detei*- 

etcr  .  s't  njodo  un«l<      ^<!..,  ,  ,.       Vu(i    a  lire  *ta«  piura,  et  invcni- 

at  vx  iiiventis  gnijdtat  ;  bi?  is  interim  sicca  et  severa.    Facile  remc- 

diiim  eat  ubertatit  ;  sterihu  .,         .  ..  untur.— C(uinctilian. 


*rhe  simple,  affededy  and  vehement  Styles,        23.^ 

loose  idea  j  but  having  no  strength  of  genius  tor  attaining  it,  they  en- 
deavour to  supply  the  defect  by  poetical  words,  by  cold  exclamations^ 
by  common-place  figures,  and  every  thing  that  has  the  appearance  of 
pomp  and  magnificence. 

3.  It  has  escaped  these  writers,  that  sobriety  in  ornament  is  one 
groat  secret  for  rendering  it  pleasing  ;  and  that,  without  a  foundation 
of  good  sense  and  solid  thought,  the  most  florid  style  is  but  a  childish 
imposition  on  the  public.  The  public,  however,  are  but  too  apt  to  be 
so  imposed  on  ;  at  least  the  mob  of  readers,  who  are  very  ready  to  be 
caught,  at  first,  with  whatever  is  dazzling  and  gaudy,  whether  it  be 
served  up  in  the  shape  of  two-pennies'  worth  of  politics,  or  crude  and 
infectious  romances  at  a  heavier  charge. 


CHAPTER  111. 

THE  SIMPLE,  AFFECTED,  AND  VEHEafENT  STVLES. 

;*;■■ 

451.  WE  are  now  to  treat  of  style  under  another  charac 

ter,  one  of  great  importance  in  writing,  and  which  requires 
to  be  accurately  examined  ;  that  of  simplicity ,  or  a  natural 
style,  as  distinguished  from  affeciatio7i. 

Obs.  Simplicity,  applied  to  writing,  is  a  term  very  frequently  used  , 
but  like  many  other  critical  terms,  often  used  loosely  and  without  pre- 
cision. This  has  been  owing  cliieily  to  the  difiercnt  meanings  given  to 
the  word  simplicity,  which,  therefore,  it  will  be  necessary  here  to  dis- 
tinguish ;  and  to  shew  in  what  sense  it  is  a  proper  attribute  of  style. 
We  may  remark  four  different  acceptations  in  which  it  is  taken. 

452.  The  first  is,  sitnplicity  of  composition,  as  opposed  to 
too  great  a  variety  of  parts.    Horace's  precept  refers  to  this : 

Denique  sit  quod  vis  simplex  duntaxat  et  imum  * 

lllus.  This  is  the  simpUciti/  of  plan  in  a  tragedy,  as  distinguished 
ft'om  double  plots,  and  crowded  incidents  ;  the  simpliciiy  of  the  Iliad, 
or  .iEneid,  in  opposition  to  the  digressions  of  Lucan,  and  the  scattered 
tales  of  Ariosto  ;  the  simpliciiy  of  Grecian  architecture,  in  opposition 
to  the  irregular  variety  of  the  GotJiic.  In  this  sense,  simplicity  is  the 
same  with  unity.     (Jirt.  154.) 

453.  The  second  sense  is,  simplicity  of  thought,  as  oppos- 
ed to  refinement.  Simple  thoughts  are  what  arise  natural- 
ly ;  what  the  occasion  or  the  subject  suggest  unsought;  and 
what,  when  once  suggested,  are  easily  apprehended  by  all. 
Refinement  in  writing,  expresses  a  less  natural  and  obvious 
train  of  thought,  and  which  it  requires  a  peculiar  turn  of 
genius  to  pursue ;  within  certain  bounds,  very  beautiful  : 

*  "  Then  learn  the  wand'ring  humour  to  controul* 
Ani.  keej»  one  equal  tenor  through  the  whole" 
21 


36  The  General  Characters  of  Style. 

but  when  carried  too  far,  approaching  to  intricacy,  and  hurt^ 
ing  us  by  the  appearance  of  being  far-sought 

lUus.  Thus,  we  would  naturally  say,  that  Parnell  is  a  poet  of  far 
^reatiT  simplicity,  in  his  turn  of  thought,  than  Cowley  ;  Cicero's 
thoughts  on  moral  subjects  are  natural  :  Seneca's,  too  refined  and  la- 
boured, 111  these  two  senses  of  simplicity,  when  it  is  opposed,  either 
to  variety  of  paits,  or  to  rctincment  of  thought,  it  has  no  proper  rela- 
tion to  style. 

454.  There  is  a  third  sense  of  simplicity,  in  which  it  has 
respect  to  style  ;  and  stands  opposed  to  too  much  ornament, 
(»r  pomp  of  language 

Jllus.  When  we  say  Lo*  ..,  ...  .i  .simple,  and  Harvey  is  a  florid  writer  ; 
it  is  in  this  sense,  that  the  ^^  simplex  "  the  " /ctimc,"  or  ^'' suhtile  gtt 
mis  dicendi,''  as  understood  by  Cicero  and  Quinctilian,  are  applicable, 

2.  The  simple  stvle,  in  this  sense,  coincides  with  the  plain  or  the  neat 
style,  C^r/.44G.  and44'7.)  and,  therefore,  requires  no  farther  illustration. 

455.  But  there  is  a  fourth  sense  of  simplicity,  also,  re- 
specting style  ;  but  not  respecting  the  degree  of  ornament 
employed,  so  much  as  the  easy  and  natural  manner  in  which 
our  language  expresses  our  thoughts.  This  is  quite  differ- 
ent from  the  former  sense  of  tiie  word  just  now  mentioned, 
in  wliich  simplicity  was  equivalent  to  plainness :  whereas, 
in  this  sense,  it  is  compatible  with  the  highest  ornament. 

lllus.  Homer,  for  instance,   possesses  this  simplicity  in  the  greatest 

.rrfection  ;  and  yet  bo  writer  has  more  oVnam»'nt  and   beauty.     This 

iiiiplicity,  which  is  what  we  are  now  to  consider,  stands  opposed,  not 

lo  ornament,  but  to  affectation  of  ornament,  or  appearance  of  labour 

about  our  style  ;  and  it  is  a  distinguishing  excellency  in  writing. 

456.  A  writer  of  simplicity  expresses  himself  in  such  a 
iiianner,  that  every  one  thinks  he  could  have  written  in  the 
same  way ;  Horace  describes  it, 

ut  «bi  quivij 

Spcret  ide»i,  sivilet  multunj,  friretraqiie  laborct 
Ausus  idfin.* 

Illus.  1.  There  are  no  marks  of  art  in  his  expression  ;  it  seems  the 
very  language  of  nature  ;  you  sec  in  the  style,  not  the  writer  and  his 
labour,  but  the  man  in  his  own  natural  character.  (Jlrt.  181.  Illus.) 
He  may  be  rich  in  his  expression  ;  he  may  be  full  of  figures,  and  of 
fancy  ;  but  these  ilow  from  him  without  etibrt  ;  and  he  appears  t® 
vvrite  in  this  manner,  not  because  he  has  >tudied  it,  but  because  it  is  the 
manner  of  expression  most  natural  to  him. 

2.  A  certain  degree  of  negligence,  also,  is  not  inconsistent  with  this 
.  liaracter  of  style,  and  even  not  ungraceful  in  it  ;  for  too  minute  an  at- 
tention to  words  is  foreign  to  it  :  let  this  style  have  a  certain  softness 
and  ease,   which  shall  characterise  a  negligence,  not  unpleasing  in  au 

*  •♦  From  wt  11-known  tales  such  fictions  would  I  raise, 
As  all  might  hope  to  imitate  with  ease  ; 
Yet,  while  they  strive  tlie  same  success  to  f^'m. 
Should  find  their  labours  and  their  hoj>e«  io  vain,"    Fnuiti*. 


The  simple  Slyle.  i237 

»AUVior,  who  appears  to  be  more  solicitous  about  the  thought  than  the 
expression*. 

3.  This  is  the  great  advantage  of  simplicity  of  style,  that,  like  sim- 
piicitv  of  manners,  it  shews  us  a  man's  sentiments  and  turn  of  mind 
laid  open  without  disguise.  More  studied  and  artificial  manners  of 
writing,  however  beautiful,  have  always  this  disadvantage,  that  they 
exhibit  an  autlior  in  form,  like  a  man  at  court,  wlure  t!ie  splendour 
of  dress,  and  the  ceremoniousness  of  behaviour,  conceal  those  pecu- 
liarities which  distinguish  one  man  from  another.  But  reading  an 
author  of  simplicity,  is  like  conversing  with  a  person  of  distinction  at 
home,  and  with  case,  where  we  find  natural  manners,  and  a  rnarke*! 
character, 

457.  The  highest  degree  of  this  simplicity  is  expressed  by 
the  French  term  nuiveie,  to  which  we  have  none  that  fullj 
answers  in  our  language.  It  is  not  easy  to  give  a  precise 
idea  of  the  import  of  this  word.  It  always  expresses  a  dis- 
covery of  character. 

Illus.  1.  Perhaps  the  best  accor.nt  of  it,  is  that  given  by  Marraontel, 
who  explains  it  thu«  :  that  sort  of  amialdc  ingenuity,  or  undisguised 
openness,  which  seems  to  give  us  some  degree  of  superiority  over  the 
person  who  shews  it  ;  a  certain  infantine  simplicity,  which  we  love  in 
our  hearts,  but  which  displays  some  features  of  the  character  that  we 
think  we  could  have  art  enough  to  hide  ;  and  which,  therelbre,  always 
i^ads  us  to  smile  at  the  person  who  discovers  this  character. 

2.  La  Fontaine,  in  his  Fables,  may  be  given  as  a  great  esa.mple  o- 
«^uch  naivete.  This,  however,  is  to  be  understood,  as  descriptive  of  a 
parlicrdar  species  only  of  simplicity. 

458.  Vvith  respect  to  simplicity,  in  general,  we  may  re 
mark,  that  the  ancient  original  writers  are  always  the  most 
eminent  for  it.  This  happens  from  a  plain  reason,  that  thej 
wrote  from  the  dictates  of  natural  genius,  and  were  not 
formed  upon  the  labours  and  writings  of  others,  which  is  al- 
ways in  hazard  of  producing  affectation. 

Carol.  Hence,  among  the  Greek  writers,  we  have  more  models  of., 
beautiful  simplicity,  than  among  the  Roman.  Homer,  Hesiod,  Anac 
rcon,  Theocritus,  Herodotus,  and  Xenophon,  are  all  distinguished  to- 
their  simplicity.  Among  the  Romans  also,  we  have  some  writers  o5 
this  charactcrj  particularly  Terence,  Lucretius,  Phajdrus,  and  Julij 
f^sar. 

459.  Simplicity  is  ihe  great  beauty  of  Archbishop  Tillot- 
son's  manner.  Tillotson  has  long  been  admired  as  an  elo- 
quent  writer,  and  a  model  for  preaching.  But  his  elo 
quence,  if  we  can  call  it  such,  has  been  often  misunderstood. 
For,  if  we  include,  in  the  idea  of  eloquence,  vehemence  and 
strengtij,  picturesque  description,  glowing  figures,  or  correct 
arrangement  of  sentences,  in  al!  these  parts  of  oratory  the 
Archbishop  is  exceedingly  deficient.     (lh\  Blair.) 

*  "  Habf t  ille,  molle  quiddani,et  quod  iiidice  non  ingratanmegligfrniariihctniiic^^ 
i|fi  re  ma^s  quam  de  verboiaborantis."    C^eero  de  Orai, 


^38  The  gmerai  Charaotera  of  Style, 

Obs.  His  style  is  always  pure,  indeed,  and  perspicuous,  but  careicif 

'.nd  remi.<s,  too  oftei;  feeble  and  languid  ;  little  beauty  in  the  construe* 

»ion  of  his  sentences,  which  are  frequently  suffered  to  drag  unharmo- 

ionsly  :  seldom  any  attempt  towards  strength  or  sublimity.     Bwt,not- 

ithstanding  these   defects,   such   a  constant  vein   of  good   sense  and 

':}i\  runs  ihrou>^h  his  works,  such  an  earnest  and  serious  manner,  and 

>  much  useful   instruction  conveyed   in  a  style  so  pure,    natural,  and 

iatfected,   as  will  jusMy  recommend  him   to  high  regard,  as  long  a5 

;o  English  language  shall  remain  ;  not,  indeed,  as  a  model  of  the  high- 

t  eloquence,   but   as  a  simple  and   amiable  writer,   whose  manner  is 

trongly  expressive  of  great  goodness  and  worth.     (Illus.  8.  Art.  222.) 

4G0.  Sir  William  Temple  is  another  remarkable  writer  in 
he  style  of  siMiplicity.     In  point  of  ornament  and  correct- 
'  ss  he  rises  a  decree  above  Tillotson  ;  though,  for  correct- 
ess,  he  is  not  in  tlie  hi;2;hest  rank.     All  is  easy  and  flowing 
ill  him  ;  he  is  exceedingly  harmonious  ;  smoothness,  and 
what  may  be  called  amenity,  are  the  distinguishing  charac- 
crs  of  his  manner  ;  relaxing  sometimes,  as  such  a  manner 
\  ill  naturally  do,  into  a  prolix  and  remiss  style. 

Ohs.  No  writer  whatever  has  stamped  upon  his  style  a  more  lively 

Impression  of  hi^i  own  character.     In  reading  his  works,  we  seem  cn- 

iged   in  convcrsailon  with  him  ;  wo  become  thoroughly  acquHinted 

(h  him,   not  mereiy  ns   an   author,   but  as   a  man  ;  and  contract  a 

He  may  be  classctl  as  standing  in  the  middle,  be- 

implicity,  and  the  highest  degree  of  ornament  which 

.,io  ^. ;  .  tylo  admits.     (.See  Lx.  2.  and  Jinalysis,  Jirt.  217.) 

461.  Addison  is,  beyond  doubt,  in  the  English  language, 

lie  most  perfect  example  of  the  highest,  most  correct,  aiul 

rnamental  degree  of  the  simple  manner:  and,  therefore, 

J)  not  without  some  faults,  he  is,  on  the  whole,  the 

.,     ;   model  for  inntation,  and  the  freest  from  considera- 

0  defect^',  which  the  language  attbrds. 

Obs.  1.  Perspicuous  and  pure  he  is  in  the  highest  degree  ;  his  prc- 

ision,   indeed,   not  very  great  ;  yet  nearly  as  great   as   the  subject.*?, 

N  hich  he  treats   ol*,  require  :  the  construction   of  his  sentences  easy^ 

■  reef.ble,   and    commonly   very   musical  ;    carrying    a   character   of 

(uoothness,  more  than  of  strength. 

2.  in  figuralivc  language,  he  is  ricli  :  particularly  in  s'unsles  and 
metaphors  \  whicli  arc  so  employed  as  to  render  his  style  splendid, 
without  being  gaudy.     There  ''s  not  the  least  affectation  in  his  manner: 

vo  .';pe  no  marks  of  labour  ;  nothing  forced  or  constrained  ',  but  great 
.  egance,  joined  with  great  case  and  simplicity. 

3.  He  is,  in  particular,  distinguished  by  a  character  of  modesty,  and 
,  f  politeness,  which  appears  in  all.  bis  writings.  ISo  aufhor  has  a  more 
popular  and  insinuating  manner  ;  and  the  great  regard  which  he  every 
where  shews  for  virtue  and  religion,  recommends  his  Spectator  very 

4.  If  he  fails  in  any  thing,  it  is  m  want  of  strength  and  precision, 
whicli  rentiers  his  manner,  though  perfectly  suited  to  such  essays  as  he 
writes  in  the  Spectator,  not  ahojjethcr  a  proper  ir.o'i'^i  f.,v  nn>-  of  tUc 


The  simjjle,  afectal  and  vehement  Styles.         2S9 

higher  and  more  elaborate  kinds  of  composition.  Though  the  pubhc 
have  ever  done  much  justice  to  his  merit,  yet  the  nature  of  his  merit 
has  not  always  been  seen  in  its  true  li^ht  ;  for,  thonc:h  his  poetry  be 
elei^ant,  he  certainly  bears  a  higher  rank  among  the  prose  writers,  than 
he  is  entitled  to  anions:  the  poets  ;  and,  in  prose,  his  humour  is  of  a 
much  higher  and  more  original  strain,  than  his  philosophy.  The  char- 
acter of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly  discovers  more  genius  than  the  critique 
on  Milton.     (See  Illus.  8.  .W.  222.  a7id  Jlrl.  272.  Crit.  4.) 

46^3.  Such  authors  as  those,  whose  characters  we  have 
been  giving,  one  is  never  tired  of  reading.  There  is  nothing 
in  their  manner  that  strains  or  fatigues  our  thoughts ;  we 
are  pleased,  without  being  dazzled  by  their  lustre.  So  pow- 
erful is  the  charm  of  simplicity  in  an  author  of  real  genius, 
that  it  atones  for  many  defects,  and  reconciles  us  to  many  u 
careless  expression. 

Corol.  1.  Hence  in  all  the  most  excellent  authors,  both  in  prose  and 
verse,  the  simple  and  natural  manner  m'ly  be  always  remarked  ;  al 
though  other  beauties  being  predominant,  this  forms  not  their  peculiar 
and  distinguishing-  character. 

2.  Thus  Milton  is  simple  in  the  midst  of  all  his  grandeur;  and  De- 
mosthenes, in  the  midst  of  all  his  vehemence.  (Ill us.  2.  and  Analysis. 
Art.  212.) 

Obs.  To  grave  and  solemn  writings,  simplicity  of  manner  adds  the 
more  venerable  air,  Accordhigly,  this  has  often  been  remarked  as  the 
prevailing  character  throughout  all  the  sacred  Scripttn-es  ;  and  indeed 
no  other  character  of  style  was  so  much  suited  to  their  dignity. 

463.  Of  authors,  who,  notwithstanding  many  excellencies, 
have  rendered  titeir  style  much  less  beautiful  by  want  of 
simplicity,  Lord  Shaftsbury  furnishes  the  most  remarkable 
example.  His  lordship  is  an  authot  on  whom  we  have  made 
observations  several  times  before,  and  we  shall  now  take 
leave  of  him,  with  giving  his  general  character  under  this 
head. 

Obs.  1.  Considerable  merit,  doubtless,  he  has.  His  language  has 
many  beauties.  It  is  firm,  and  supported  in  an  uncommon  degree  ;  it 
i5  rich  and  musical.  No  English  author  has  attended  so  much  to  (he 
regular  construction  of  his  sentences,  both  with  respect  to  propriety, 
and  with  respect  to  cadence.  (Illus.  7.  Art.  222.)  All  this  gives  so 
ujuch  elegance  and  pomp  to  his  language,  that  there  is  no  wonder  it 
should  have  been  highly  admired  by  some.  It  is  greatly  hurt,  howev- 
er, by  perpetual  stiffness  and  alVcctation.     This  is  its  capital  fault. 

2.  Like  Dr.  Johnson,  his  lordship  can  express  nothing  with  simplici- 
ty. Me  seems  to  have  considered  it  as  vulgar,  and  beneatii  the  dignity 
of  a  man  of  quality,  to  speak  like  other  men.  Johnson  could  say  no- 
thing but  as  a  lexicographer.  Lord  Shaftsbury  is  ever  in  buskins  ; 
and  dressed  out  witii  magnificent  elegance.  Johnson  is  clad  in  the 
leaves  of  his  dictionary  ;  he  lived  upon  it,  as  Boniface  did  upon  his 
ale.  In  itwtvy  sentence  of  Lord  Shaftsbury,  we  sec  the  marks  of  la- 
bour and  an  ;  nothing  of  that  ease,  which  expresses  a  sentiment  com- 
mg  natural  and  warm  from  the  heart.     Johnson  is  a  perfect  mechanist 


-40  The  general  Characters  of  ^Siyu, 

ufst^yle.     Iluving  once  studied  liim,  you  will  know  his  style  ainoiig'  »"•/ 

thousand  ;  so  exactly  do  the  counters  he  presents  to  you,   corrcsponcf 

with  the  Roman  die,   whence  they  were   turned  out.     Of  fig^urcs  and 

■rnaments  of  every  kind,  Lord  Shaftshury  is  exceedingly  tond  ;  somc- 

imes  happy  in  them  ;  but  his  tbndncss  for  them  is  too  visible;  and, 

Living  once  laid  hold  of  some  metaphor  or  allusion  that  pleases  him, 

f»e  knows  not  how  to  part  with  it.     The  coldness  of  Johnson's  heart, 

did  not  allow  him  to   indulge  at  pleasure  in   figures    and  ornament. 

'lis  figures  are  always  correct,  but  artificial  and  stately;  and  his  aUe- 

orics,  in  the  Rambler,  are  awkwardly  classical,  though  some  of  them 

re  not  deficient   in  wit  and  elegance.     His  Allegory  of  Criticism,  an 

irly  paper  in  the  Rambler,  is  a  pertinent  illustration. 

464.  Having  now  said  so  much  to  recommend  simplicity, 
or  the  easy  and  natural  manner  of  writing,  and  liaving 
pointed  out  the  defects  of  an  opposite  manner  ;  in  order  to 
prevent  njistakes  on  tiiis  subject,  it  is  necessary  to  observe, 
that  it  is  very  possible  for  an  author  to  write  simply  and  yet 
not  beautiful!  V.  One  rnav  be  free  from  at!ectation,  and  not 
Imve  merit. 

Vlus.  1.  Tii  ;,,,..,...,.  ,.,.,;.,..  ..^.  -..jij,.*,*  .>.i  ....i.,i,.  ...  ^-v.  c^  -.-.  real 
cuius  ;  to  write  with  solidity,  purity,  and  liveliness  of  imagination. 
1  this  case,   the  simplicity   or  unalVectedncss   of  his  manner,   is  the 

owning  ornament )  it  heightens  every  other  beauty  ;  it  is  the  dress 
f  nature,  without  which  all  beauties  arc  imperfect. 

2.  Rut  if  mere  unafiectetlness  were  sufHcient  to  constitute  the  beauty 
r  style,  weak,  trifling,  and  dull  writers  might  often  lay  claim  to  this 
oauty.      And,  accordingly,  we  frequently  meet  with  pretended  critics, 

^jo  extol  the  dullest  writers,  on  account  of  what  they  call  the  "  chaste 

iuiplicity  of  their  manner ;"  which,  in  truth,  is  no  other  than  the  ab- 
nce  of  every  ornament,  through  the  mere  want  of  genius  and  imar 
.  i  nation. 

3.  Wc  must  distrnguish,  therefore,  lietween  that  simplicity  which 
^companies  true  genius,  nn<l  which  is  perfectly  compatible  with  every 
;opcr  ornament  of  style,  and  that  which  is  no  other  than   a  careless 

iiui  slovenly  manner.  Indeed  the  distinction  is  easily  made  from  the 
iiert  produced.  The  one  never  fails  to  interest  the  reader  ;  the  other 
^  insipid  and  tiresome. 

465.  Wc  proceed  to  mention  one  other  manner  or  cTiarac- 
ler  of  style  different  from  any  that  has  yet  been  spoken  of; 
and  which  may  be  distinguished  by  the  name  of  the  vehe- 
nient.  This  always  implies  strength  ;  and  is  not,  by  any 
uieans,  inconsistent  with  si»nplicity  ;  but,  in  its  predomin- 
ant character,  it  is  distinguishable  from  cither  the  stroiig  or 
the  simple  manner. 

Illus.  It  has  a  peculiar  ardour  ;  it  is  a  glowing  style  ;  the  language 
of  a  man,  whose  imagination  and  passions  are  heated,  and  strongly  af- 
ected  by  what  he  writes  ;  who  is  therefore  negtigent  of  minor  graces, 
S)ut  pours  himself  forth  with  the  rapidity  and  fulness  of  a  torrent.  It 
belongs  to  the  higher  kinds  of  oratory  ;  and,  indeed,  is  rather  expect- 
ed from  a  jnan  who  is  s-peaking,  tiianr  from  one  who  is  writing  in  his 


The  simple,  affected,  and  vehement  Siytes,         9Ai 

closet.     The  orations  of  Demosthenes  furnish  the  full  and  perfect  ex- 
ample of  this  species  of  style. 

466.  Among  English  writers,  the  one  vvlio  has  most  of 
this  character,  though  mixed,  indeed,  with  several  defects, 
is  Lord  Bolingbroke.  His  lordship  was  formed  by  nature 
to  be  a  factious  leader  ;  the  demagogue  of  a  popular  assem- 
bly. Accordingly  the  style  that  runs  through  all  his  politi- 
cal writings,  is  that  of  one  declaiming  with  heat,  rather  than. 
Avriting  with  deliberation. 

Illus.  He  abounds  in  rhetorical  ligures  ;  and  pours  himself  Airth  with 
great  impetuosity.  He  is  copious  to  a  fault  ;  places  the  same  thought 
before  us  in  many  dliVerent  views  j  but  generally  with  life  and  ardour. 
He  is  bold,  rather  than  correct;  a  torrent  that  flows  strong-,  but  often 
muddy.  His  sentences  are  varied  as  to  length  and  shortness  ;  inclin- 
ing, however,  most  to  long-  periods,  sometimes  including  parentheses, 
and  frequently  crowding-  and  heaping-  a  m.ultitude  of  things  upon  one 
another,  as  naturally  happei>s  in  t'ne  warmth  of  speaking,  in  the 
choice  of  his  words,  there  is  great  felicity  and  precision.  In  exact 
construction  of  sentences,  he  is  much  inferior  to  Lord  Shaftsbury;  but 
greatly  superior  to  him  in  life  and  ease.  Upon  the  wliole,  his  merit, 
as  a  writer,  would  have  been  very  considerable,  if  his  matter  had 
equalled  his  style.  But  whilst  we  find  many  things  to  commend  in  the 
latter,  in  the  former,  as  we  before  remarked,  we  can  liardly  find  any 
thing  to  commend,  in  his  reasonings,  for  the  most  purl,  he  is  flimsy 
and  false;  in  his  political  writings,  factious  ;  in  what  ho  calls  his  phi. 
losophical  ones,  sophistical  in  the  highest  degree. 

467.  Some  other  characters  of  style,  beside  those  which 
we  have  mentioned,  might  be  pointed  out  ;  but  it  is  vei  y 
diflicult  to  separate  such  general  considerations  of  the  style 
of  authors  from  their  peculiar  turn  of  sentiment,  which  it  is 
not  the  business  of  this  work  to  criticise. 

Illus.  Conceited  writers,  for  instance,  discover  their  spirit  so  much 
in  their  composition,  that  it  imprints  on  their  style  a  character  of  pert- 
nsss  ;  though  it  is  difiicult  to  say,  whether  this  can  be  classed  among 
the  attributes  of  style,  or  is  rather  to  be  ascribed  entirely  to  the 
thought.  In  whatever  class  we  rank  it,  all  appearances  of  it  ought  to 
be  avoided  with  care,  as  a  most  disgusting  blemish  in  writing.  Under 
general  heads,  it  is  no  difiicult  task  to  classify  the  character  of  many  of 
the  eminent  writers  in  the  English  language. 

Scholia.  From  what  has  been  said  on  this  subject,  it  may  be  infer- 
red, that  to  determine  among  all  these  diflercnt  manners  of  writing, 
what  is  precisely  the  best,  is  neither  easy  not  necessary.  Style  is  a 
field  that  admits  of  great  latitude.  Its  qualities  in  diiTerent  authors 
may  be  very  difterent ;  and  yet  in  tiiem  all,  beautiful.  Room  must  be 
loft  here  for  genius  ;  for  that  particular  determination  which  one  re- 
ceives from  nature  to  one  manner  of  expression  more  than  another. 

2.  Some  general  qualities,  indeed,  there  are  of  such  importance,  as 
should  always,  in  every  kind  of  composition,  be  kept  in  view  ;  and 
some  defects  we  should  always  study  to  avoid. 

3.  An  ostentatious,  a  feeble,  a  harsh,  or  an  obscure  style,  for  in- 
stance,  is  always  faulty:   and  perspicuity,  strength,  neatness,  and 


i42  Directions  for  forming  Style, 

simplicity,  arc  beauties  to  be  always  aimed  at.  But  as  to  the  niixtuiV 
of  all,  or  the  degree  of  predominancy  of  any  one  of  these  good  quali- 
ties, for  forming-  our  peculiar  distinguishing  manner,  no  precise  rules 
can  be  given  ;  nor  would  it  be  prudent  to  point  out  any  one  model  as 
absolutely  perfect. 

4.  It  will  be  more  to  the  purpose,  that  we  conclude  these  disserta- 
tions upon  style,  with  a  few  directions  concerning  the  proper  method 
'f  attainini"!^  a  good  style,  in  general  ;  leaving  the  particular  character 
>\  that  style  to  be  either  formed  b^  the  subject  on  which  we  write,  or 
prpropted  by  the  bent  of  genius. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DIRECTIONS  FOil  r  STYLE. 

468.  THE  first  direction  whic^i  vve  give  fur  this  purpose^ 
.s,  to  study  char  ideas  on  the  subject  concerning  vvnicli  jou 
are  to  write  or  speak.  This  is  a  direction  which  may  at  first 
appear  to  have  small  relation  to  style.     Its  relation  to  it, 

iowevcr,  is  extremely  close.     Tlie  foundation  of  all  good 
-tyle,  is  good  stnt>e,  accompanied  with  a  //tc/y  imagination. 

Illns.  1.  The  style  and  thoupijts  of  a  writer  are  so  intimaicly  conncct- 

fi],  that  it  is  frequently  hard  to  distinguish  them.  (..irl.  3i>2.)  When- 
vcr  the  impressions  of  things  upon  our  minds  are  faint  and  indistinct, 
1  perplexed  and  confused,  our  style  in  treating  of  such  livings  will  in- 
illibly  be  so  too.  Whereas,  what  we  conceive  clearly  and  feel  strong- 
V ,  we  shall  naturally  express  with  clearness  and  with  strength,  (lilus. 

.Jit.  4«>5.) 

2.  This,   then,  we  may  be  asstircd.  is  a  capital  rule  as  to  style,  to 

tliink  closely  on  the  subject,  till  we  hare  attained  a  full  sind  distinct 
iew  of  the  matter  which  we  are  to  clothe  in  words,  till  we  hecomo 
arm  and  interested  in  it  ;  then,  and   not   till   then,  shall  we  find  ex- 

)i«'S!jion  begin  to  flow, 
o.  Grneraliy  speaking,  the  best  and  most  proper  expressions  are 
;ose  which  a  clear  view  of  the  subject  suggests,  without  much  labour 
I  inquiry  after  them.  This  is  Quinctilian's  observation  :  the  most 
roper  words  for  the  most^art  adhere  to  the  thoughts  which  are  to  be 
xpresscd  by  tliem,  and  may  bo  discovered  as  by  their  own  light.  But 
c  hunt  al'ter  ttiem  as  if  they  were  hidden,  and  only  to  be  found  in  a 
orner.     Hence,   instead  of  conceiving  the  words   to  lie  near  the  sub- 

<  ct,  we  go  in  quest  of  them  to  some  other  quarter,  and  endeavour  to 

_ive  force  to  the  expressions  we  have  found  out.* 

469.  In  the  second  place,  in  order  to  form  a  good  style, 
mejrequent  practice  of  composing  is  indispensably  necessa- 

•  Plcrumque  optima  verba  rtbus  coharent,  ct  cemuntur  sao  luuiinet.  At  nos^ 
quaerimus  ilia,  tanqiiam  latrant  seqiie  subducant.  Ita  nunquam  putauius  verba  esse 
circa  id  do  quo  diet'udum  est;  scd  ex  this  locis  pHimus,  et  inventus  vim  affPrimu?, 
Lub.  viij.  c.  1. 


Bit edions  for  forming  Style,  245 

liy.  We  have  delivered  many  rules  concerning  style  ;  but 
no  rules  will  answer  the  end,  without  exercise  and  habit. 
At  the  same  time,  it  is  not  every  sort  of  composing  that  will 
improve  style. 

Illus.  This  is  so  far  from  being  the  case,  that  by  frequent,  careless, 
iind  hasty  composition,  we  shall  certainly  acquire  a  very  bad  style  ; 
we  shall  have  more  trouble  afterwards  in  unlearning:  faults,  and  cor- 
recting- negligences,  than  if  we  had  not  been  accustomed  to  composi- 
tion at  all.  In  the  beginning,  therefore,  we  ought  to  write  slow  ly,  and 
with  much  care.  Let  the  facility  and  speed  of  writing  be  the  fruit  of 
longer  practice.  *'  I  enjoin,"  says  Quinctilian,  '*  that  such  as  are  be- 
ginning the  practice  of  composition,  vvrite  slowly  and  with  anxious  de- 
liberation. Their  great  object  at  first  should  be,  to  write  as  well  as 
possible  ;  practice  will  enable  them  to  write  speedily.  By  degrees, 
matter  will  offer  itself  still  more  readily  ;  words  will  be  at  hand  ;  com- 
position will  flow  ;  every  thing,  as  in  the  arrangement  of  a  well-order- 
ed family,  will  present  itself  in  its  proper  place.  The  sum  of  the  whole 
is  this  :  by  hasty  composition,  we  shall  never  acquire  the  art  of  com- 
posing well  ;  by  writing  well,  we  shall  come  to  write  speedily."* 

470.  We  must  observe,  however,  tliat  there  may  be  an 
extreme,  in  too  great  and  anxious  care  about  words.  We 
must  not  retard  the  course  of  thought,  nor  cool  the  heat  of 
imagination,  by  pausing  too  long  on  every  word  we  employe 
There  is,  on  certain  occasions,  a  glov/  of  composition,  which 
should  be  kept  up,  if  we  hope  to  express  ourselves  happily, 
though  at  the  expense  of  allowing  some  inadvertencies  to 
pass.  A  more  severe  examination  of  these  n)ust  be  left  for 
the  work  of  correction.  For,  if  the  practice  of  composition 
f)e  useful,  the  laborious  work  of  correcting  is  no  less  so  ;  it  is 
indeed  absolutely  necessary  to  our  reaping  any  benefit  from 
the  habit  of  composition. 

Obs.  1.  What  we  have  written  should  be  laid  by  for  some  little  time- 
till  the  ardour  of  composition  be  past,  till  \\\i\  fondness  for  the  exjjres- 
sions  which  we  have  used  be  worn  oiT,  and  th.e  expressions  themselves 
be  torgotten  ;  and  then  reviewing  our  work  with  a  cool  and  criticid  eye, 
as  ifit  were  the  performance  of  another,  we  shall  discern  many  imper- 
fections which  at  first  escaped  us. 

2.  Then  is  the  season  for  pruning  redundancies  ;  for  examining  the 
arrangement  of  sentences  ;  for  attending  to  the  juncture  of  the  parti- 
cles connecting  the  whole  ;  and  bringing  style  into  a  regular,  correct. 
and  supported  form, 

3.  This  '^  labour  at  the  beginning,"  must  be  submitted  to  by  all  v/jio 
would  communicate  their  thoughts  with   proper  advantage  to   otliers  , 
and  some  practice  in  it  will  soon  sharpen  tlieir  eye  to  the  most  noces 
sary  objects  of  attention,  and  render  it  a  much  more  easy  and  practi 
cable  work  than  might  at  first  be  imagined. 

*  "  Moram  et  solicitudinero,  initils  iir.pero.  Nam  primum  lioc  constituemlnm  an 
obtinendum  est,ut  quam  optime  scrlbamus:  celeritatem  dabit  consuetudo.  Paiilatim 
res  faeilius  se  ostendent,  verba  respondcbunt,  cornpositio  prostqueliir.  Cuncta  dcpi- 
que  ut  in  familia  bene  instituta  in  officio  evunt.  Sum  ma  h'*c  t  st  ivi  j  cito  scvibeiid*^ 
jiou  fit  uc  bit^scrikatur;  btne  scribendo,  sit  ut  cito."    I.  x.  o.  >. 


2-44  Directions  for  formins;  Style, 

471.  In  the  third  place,  with  respect  to  the  assistance  that 
is  to  be  gained  from  the  writings  of  others,  it  is  obvious,  that 
we  ought  to  render  ourselves  well  acquainted  with  tlie  style 
of  the  best  authors.  This  is  requisite,  both  iu  order  to  form 
a  just  taste  in  style,  and  to  supply  us  with  a  full  stock  of 
words  on  every  subject. 

Ohs.  1.  In  reading  authors  with  a  view  to  style,  attention  should  be 
•  iveu  to  the  peculiarities  of  their  diflerent  manners  ;  and  in  th's  Grara- 
.rir  we  have  endeavoured  to  sugg^cst  several  things  that  may  be  useful 
\i\  this  view.  Dr.  Blair  says,  no  exercise  will  be  lound  more  useful  for 
acqtiiring  a  proper  style,  than  to  translate  some  passage  from  an  cmio- 
ent  English  author  into  our  own  words. 

2.  What  he  means  is,  to  take,  for  instance,  some  page  of  one  of  Ad- 
dison's Spectators,  and  read  it  carefully  over  two  or  three  times,  till  we 
have  got  a  firm  hold  of  the  thoughts  contained  in  it  ;  then  to  lay  aside 
the  book  ;  to  attempt  to  write  out  the  passage  from  memory,  in  the 
best  way  we  can  ;  and  having  done  so,  next  to  open  the  book,  and  com- 
pare what  we  have  written,  with  the  style  of  the  author. 

3.  Such  an  exercise  will,  by  comparison,  shew  us  where  the  defects 
>f  our  style  lie  ;  it  will  lead  us  to  the  proper  attentions  for  rectifying' 
riicm  ;  and  among  the  diirerent  ways  in  which  the  same  thong'r.l.  may  be 
expressed,  it  will  make  us  percCiVC  that  which  is  the  most  bea-itiful. 

472.  In  the  fourth  place,  guard  yourself,  at  the  same  time, 
against  a  servile  imitation  of  any  author  whatever.  This  is 
ilways  dangerous.  It  hampers  genius  ;  it  is  likely  to  pro- 
duce a  stiff  manner  ;  and  those  who  are  given  to  close  imi- 
tation, generally  imitate  an  author's  faults,  as  well  as  his 
beauties.  No  man  will  ever  become  a  good  writer  or  speak- 
er, who  hr.5  nut  ^./me  degree  of  coniidence  to  follow  his  own 
;;cnius. 

Obs.  Yoti  );  ware,   iu  particular,  of  adopting  any  author's 

toted  phrases,  or  transcribing  ))a:isages  from  hira.     Such  a  habit  will 

rove  fatal  to  all  genuine  composition.     Infinitely  better   it   is  to  have 

omething  that  is  your  own,  though  of  moderate  beauty,  than  to  affect 

1  shine  in  borrowed  ornaments,  which  will,  at  last,  betray  the  utter 

i)averty  of  your   genius.     On  these   heads   of  composing,  correcting, 

1  oading,  and  imitating,  every  student   of  oratory  should  consult  what 

<iuinctilian  has  delivered   in   tke  tenth  book  of  his  Institutions,  where 

'.  ill  bo  found  a  variety  of  excellent  observations  and  directions,  that 

ell  deserve  attention. 

473.  In  the  fifth  place,  it  is  an  obvious,  but  material  rule, 
with  respect  to  style,  that  you  always  study  to  adapt  it  to  the 
subject,  and  also  to  the  capacity  of  your  hearers,  if  you  arc 
to  speak  in  public.  Nothing  merits  the  name  of  eloquent  or 
beautiful,  which  is  not  suited  to  the  occasion,  and  to  the  per- 
sons to  whom  it  is  addressed.  It  is  to  the  last  degree  awk- 
ward a«d  absurd,  to  attempt  a  poetical  florid  style,  on  occa- 
sions when  it  should  be  your  business  only  to  argue  and  rea 


Conduct  of  a  JJiscourse  in  all  its  Parts.  £4c/ 

son  ;  or  to  speak  with  elaborate  pomp  of  expression,  before 
persons  who  comprehend  nothing  of  it,  and  who  can  only 
stare  at  your  unseasonable  magnincence.  These  are  defects 
not  so  much  in  point  of  style,  as,  what  is  much  worse,  in 
point  of  common  sense* 

Obs.  When  you  begin  to  write  or  speak,  you  ought  previously  to  fix 
in  your  minds  a  clear  conception  of  the  end  to  be  aimed  at  ;  to  keep 
this  Rteadily  in  your  view,  and  to  suit  your  style  to  it.  If  you  do  not 
sacrifice  to  this  great  object,  every  ill-timed  ornament  that  may  occur 
to  your  fancy,  you  are  unpardonable  ;  and  though  children  and  fools 
may  admire,  men  of  sense  will  laugh  at  you  and  your  style. 

474.  In  the  last  place  carry  along  with  you  this  admoni- 
tion, that,  in  any  case,  and  on  any  occasion,  attention  to 
style  must  not  engross  you  so  much,  as  to  detract  from  a 
higher  degree  of  attention  to  the  thoughts :  "  to  your  ex- 
pression be  attentive ;  but  about.your  matter  be  solicitous/'* 

Obs.  It  is  much  easier  to  dress  up  trivial  and  common  sentiments 
with  some  beauty  of  expression,  than  to  afford  a  fund  of  vigorous,  in- 
ji^enious,  and  useful  thoughts.  The  latter  requires  tif-ue  genius  ;  the 
former  may  be  attained  by  industry,  with  the  help  of  very  superficial 
parts.  Hence,  we  find  so  many  writers  frivolously  rich  in  style,  but 
wretchedly  poor  in  sentiment.  The  public  ear  is  now  so  much  accus- 
tomed to  a  correct  and  ornamented  style,  that  no  writer  can,  w  ith  safe- 
ty, neglect  the  study  of  it.  But  he  is  a  contemptible  one,  who  does  not 
look  to  something  beyond  it ;  who  does  not  lay  the  chief  stress  upon 
his  matter,  and  employ  such  ornaments  of  style  to  recommend  it,  as 
are  manly,  not  foppish.  "  A  higher  spirit  ought  to  animate  those  who 
study  eloquence.  They  ought  to  consult  the  health  and  fondness  of 
the  whole  body,  rather  than  bend  their  attention  to  such  trifling  ob- 
jects as  paring  the  nails,  and  dressing  the  hair.  Let  ornament  be 
manly  and  chaste,  without  effeminate  gaiety,  or  artificial  colouring  j 
let  it  shine  with  the  glow  of  health  and  strength."! 


CHAPTER  V. 


CONDUCT  OF  A  DISCOURSE  IN  ALL  ITS  PARTS INniODUC- 

TION,  DIVISION,  NARRATION  AND  EXPLICATION. 

475.  ON  wiiatever  subject  any  one  intends  to  discourse, 
he  will  most  cojiimonlj  beiijin  v/ith  some  introduction, in  order 
to  prepare  the  minds  of  his  he'i'^^rs  ;  he  will  then  state  his 
subject,  and  explain  the  facts  connected  with  it ;  he  will 

*  "  Curani  verborum,  rerum  voloesse  solicitudinem." 

t  *•  Majore  aahijo  agpredienda  est  •  lonuenlia  ;  quae:  si  toto  corpore  valet,  ungue* 
poVire  et  cajpilium  conipon'.re,  :':on  exisuraabit  ad  curam  suam  pertinere.  Ovnatws 
etvirilia  et  fortis,  et  saitcius  sit;  iacc  effeniinatam  levitatem,  et  fuco  ementitam  cola- 
lera  amet ;  saiiguiue  et  viribus  uitcat*"    ^uinctilian. 


246  Conduct  of  a  Discourse  in  all  its  Paris. 

employ  arguments  for  establishing  his  own  opinion,  and 
overthrowing  that  of  his  antagonist :  he  may  perhaps,  if 
there  be  room  for  it,  endeavour  to  touch  the  passions  of  his 
audience  ;  and  after  having  said  all  he  thinks  proper,  he  will 
bring  his  discourse  to  a  close,  by  some  peroration  or  con- 
clusion. 

476.  This  being  the  natural  train  of  speaking,  the  parts 
that  compose  a  regular  formal  oration,  are  these  six  : 

First,  the  exordium,  or  introduction  ; 

Seconrlly,  the  statement,  and  the  division  of  the  subject ; 

Thirdly,  the  narration,  or  explication  ; 

Fourthly,  the  reasoning,  or  arguments; 

Fifthly,  the  pathetic  parts  ; 

And,  lastly,  the  conclusion. 

477.  The  exordium,  or  introduction,  is  manifestly  com- 
mon to  all  kinds  of  public  speaking.  It  is  not  a  rhetorical 
invention.  It  is  founded  upon  nature,  and  suggested  by 
common  sense. 

fllus.  When  one  is  j^oing^  to  counsel  anotli.  •,        itpoii 

bim  to  instruct,  or  to  rrprove,  prudence  will  generally  direct  liiin  not 
to  do  it  abruptly,  but  to  use  some  preparation  ;  to  begin  with  some 
matter  that  may  in<-line  the  persons,  to  whom  he  addresses  himself,  to 
judge  favourably  of  what  he  is  about  to  say  ;  and  may  dispose  them 
to  such  a  train  of  thouL-lif.  ;i<  wiil  forward  and  assist  the  purpose 
hich  he  hii-  '  'he  main  scope  of  an 

iitroductioii 

478.  First,  to  conciliafe  the  good-ivi/l  oi  ihc  hearers;  to 
render  them  benevolent,  or  well-iiflTected,  to  the  speaker,  and 
to  the  subject. 

lUus.  Topics  foi  iiii,-.  pMi|»i^>r  iikiv,  hi  i  auses  at  the  bar,  be  some- 
times taken  from  the  particular  situation  of  the  speaker  himself,  or  of 
his  client,  or  from  the  character  or  behaviour  of  his  antagonists,  con- 
trasted with  his  own  ;  on  other  occasions,  from  the  nature  of  the  sub- 
ject, as  closely  connected  with  the  interest  of  the  hearers  ;  and,  io 
general,  from  the  modesty  and  good  intention  with  which  the  speaker 
enters  upon  his  subject. 

479.  The  second  end  of  an  introduction,  is,  to  raise  the 
litmtioi  of  the  hf.arers  ;  which  may  be  eftected,  by  giving 

them  some  hints  of  the  importance,  dignity,  or  novelty  of 
the  subject ;  or  some  favourable  view  of  tlie  clearness  and 
precision  with  which  we  are  to  treat  it ;  and  of  the  brevity 
with  which  we  are  to  discourse. 

480.  The  third  end  is,  to  render  the  hearers  docile^  or  open 
fo  pcrs7iasio7i ;  for  which  end  we  must  begin  with  studying 

f*  remove  any  particular  prepossessions  they  may  have  con- 


llie  Introduction,  247 

tracted  against  the  cause,  or  side  of  the  argument,  which  we 
espouse. 

481.  As  few  parts  of  the  discourse  give  the  composer  more 
trouble,  or  are  attended  with  more  nicety  in  the  execution, 
we  shall  here  lay  down  the  following  rules,  for  the  proper 
composition  of  this  part  of  the  subject. 

482.  The  first  rule  is;  that  the  introduction  should  be  easy 
and  natural.     The  subject  must  always  suggest  it. 

Ohs.  It  is  too  common  a  fault  in  introductions,  that  they  arc  taken 
from  some  coiRmon-place  topic,  which  has  no  particular  relation  to 
the  subject  in  hand  \  by  which  means  they  stand  apart,  like  pieces  de- 
tached from  the  rest  of  the  discourses  to  which  they  are  prefixed. 

483.  In  order  to  render  introductions  natural  and  easy^ 
it  is  a  good  rule,  that  they  should  not  be  planned,  till  after 
one  has  meditated  in  his  own  mind  the  substance  of  his  dis- 
course. Then,  and  not  till  then,  he  should  begin  to  think  of 
some  proper  and  natural  introduction. 

Obs.  By  taking  a  contrary  course,  and  labouring"  in  the  first  place 
on  an  introduction,  every  one  who  is  accustomed  to  composition,  will 
often  find,  tliat  either  he  is  led  to  lay  hold  of  some  common-place 
Topic,  or  that,  instead  of  ihe  introduction  being-  accommodated  to  the 
discourse,  he  is  obliged  to  accommodate  the  whole  discourse  to  tlie  in- 
troduction which  he  had  previously  written. 

484.  In  the  second  place,  in  an  introduction,  correctness 
should  be  carefully  studied  in  the  expression.  This  is  re- 
quisite, on  account  of  the  situation  of  the  hearers. 

Obs.  They  are  then  more  disposed  to  criticise  than  at  any  other  pe- 
riod ;  they  are,  as  yet;,  unoccupied  with  the  subject  or  the  arguments  ; 
their  attention  is  wholly  directed  to  the  speaker's  stj^le  and  manner. 
Something  must  be  done,  therefore,  to  prepossess  them  in  his  favour  ; 
though,  for  the  same  reasons,  too  much  art  must  be  avoided  ;  for  it  will 
be  more  easily  detected  at  that  time  than  afterwards  ;  and  will  dero- 
gate from  persuasion  in  all  that  follows. 

485.  In  the  third  place,  modesty  is  another  character 
which  \i  must  carry.  All  appearances  of  modesty  are  fa- 
vourable, and  prepossessing.  If  the  orator  set  out  with  an 
air  of  arrogance  and  ostentation,  the  self-love  and  pride  of 
the  hearers  will  be  presently  awakened,  aiid  they  will  listen 
to  him  with  a  very  suspicious  ear  throughout  all  his  dis- 
coui'se. 

Obs.  His  modesty  should  discover  itself  not  only  in  his  expressions 
at  the  beginningj  but  in  his  whole  manner  ;  in  his  looks,  in  his  ges- 
tures, in  the  tone  of  his  voice.  Every  auditory  take  in  good  parr  those 
marks  of  respect  and  awe,  which  are  paid  to  them  by  one  who  address- 
es them.  Indeed  the  modesty  of  an  introduction  should  never  betray 
any  thing  mean  or  abject.  It  is  always  of  great  use  to  an  orator,  that, 
tog'^thef  with  modesty  and  deference  to  his  hearers,  he  should  shjvv  a 

22 


248  Conduct  of  a  Discourse  in  ail  its  Paris, 

certain  sense  of  dignity,  arising  from  a  persuasion  of  the  justice  or  ixr?- 
portancc  of  the  subject  on  which  he  is  to  speak. 

486.  In  the  fourth  place,  an  introduction  should  usually 
be  carried  on  in  the  calm  manner.  This  is  seldom  the  place 
for  vehemence  and  passion.  Emotions  must  rise  as  the  dis- 
course advances.  The  minds  of  the  hearers  must  be  grad- 
ually prepared,  before  the  speaker  can  venture  on  strong 
and  passionate  sentiments. 

Obs.  The  exceptions  to  this  rule  arc,  when  the  subject  is  such,  that 
the  very  mention  of  it  naturally  awakens  some  passionate  emotion  ;  or 
when  the  unexpected  presence  of  some  person  or  object,  in  a  popular 
assembly,  inflames  the  speaker,  and  makes  him  break  forth  with  unu- 
sual warmth.  Either  of  these  will  justify  what  is  called  the  exordium 
ab  nbruplo. 

Example.  Thus  the  appearance  of  Catiline  in  the  senate  renders  the 
vehement  beginning-  of  Cicero's  first  oration  against  him  vrry  natural 
aud  proper  :  '*  Quousquc  tandem  abutere,  Catilina,  patientia  nostra  V* 
And  thus  Bishop  Atterbury,  in  preaching  from  this  text,  '*  Blessed  is 
e,  whosoever  shall  not  be  offended  in  me,"  ventures  on  breaking  forth 
vith  this  bold  exordium  :  '*  And  can  any  man  then  be  offended  in 
<hee,  blessed  Jesus  r" 

487.  In  the  fifth  place,  it  is  a  rule  in  iHtroductions,  not  to 
iiiticipate  any  material  part  of  the  subject. 

Obs.  When  topics,  or  arguments,  w  hich  are  afterwards  to  be  cnhirg- 
d  upon,  are  hinted  at,  and,  in  part,  brought  forth  in  the  introduction, 
they  lose  the  grace  of  novelty  upon  their  second  appearance.  The  im- 
pression intended  to  be  made  by  any  capital  thought,  is  always  made 
with  the  greatest  advantage,  wheu  it  is  made  entire,  and  in  its  proper 
place. 

488.  In  the  last  place,  the  introduction  ought  to  be  pro- 
portioned, both  in  length,  and  in  kind,  to  the  discourse  that 
is  to  follow  :  in  length,  as  nothing  can  be  more  absurd  than 
to  erect  a  very  great  portico  before  a  small  building;  and  in 
kind,  as  it  is  no  less  absurd  to  overcharge,  with  superb  orna- 
ments, the  portico  of  a  plain  dwelling-house,  or  to  make  the 
entrance  to  a  monument  as  gay  as  that  to  an  arbour.  Com- 
mon sense  directs,  that  every  part  of  a  discourse  should  be 
suited  to  the  strain  and  spirit  of  the  whule. 

Scholium.  These  are  the  principal  rules  that  relate  to  introductions. 
They  are  adapted,  in  a  great  measure,  to  discourses  of  all  kinds.  \u 
pleadings  at  the  bar,  or  speeches  in  public  Hssemblies,  particular  care 
must  be  taken  not  to  employ  such  an  introduction  as  the  adverse  party 
may  lay  hold  of,  and  turn  to  his  advantage. 

489.  After  the  introduction,  what  commonly  comes  next 
in  order,  is  tlie  proposition^  or  enunciation  of  the  subject. 
Concerning  the  proposition,  it  is  to  be  observed,  thai  it 
should  be  as  cleai  and  distinct  as  possible,  and  expressed  iii 
few  and  plain  words,  without  the  least  affectation. 


•J%e  Proposition  or  Enuncialion  of  the  Subject,      249 

490.  To  this,  j^enerallj  succeeds  the  divisiony  or  the  lay- 
ing down  the  method  of  the  discourse  ;  on  which  it  is  neces- 
sary to  make  some  observations. 

0^5.  We  do  not  mean,  that  in  ey:^vy  discourse,  a  formal  division  or 
idistribution  of  it  into  parts,  is  requisite.  There  are  many  occasions  of 
public  speaking,  when  this  is  neither  requisite,  nor  would  be  proper  ; 
when  the  discourse,  perhaps,  is  to  be  short,  or  only  one  point  is  to  be 
treated  of;  or  when  the  speaker  does  not  choose  to  warn  his  hearers 
of  the  method  he  is  to  follow,  or  of  the  conclusion  to  which  he  seeks  to 
bring  them.  Order,  of  one  kind  or  other,  is,  indeed,  essential  to  every 
food  discourse',  that  is,  every  thing  should  be  so  arranged,  that  what 
goes  before  may  give  light  and  force  to  what  follows.  But  this  may 
be  accomplished  by  means  of  a  concealed  method.  What  we  call  di- 
vision is,  when  the  method  is  propounded  in  form  to  the  hearers. 
The  discourse  in  which  this  sort  of  division  most  commonly  take? 
place,  is  a  sermon. 

491.  In  a  sermon^  or  pleadings  or  any  discourse,  wher^i 
division  is  proper  to  be  used,  the  most  material  rules  are, 

49:2.  First,  that  the  several  parts  into  which  the  subject  is 
divided,  be  really  distinct  from  one  another ;  that  is,  tliat  no 
ene  include  another, 

Obs.  It  were  a  very  absurd  division,  for  instance,  if  one  should  pro- 
pose to  treat  first,  of  the  advantages  of  virtue,  and  next,  of  those  of  jus- 
tice or  temperance  ;  because,  the  first  head  evidently  comprehends  the 
second,  as  a  genus  does  <he  species.  He  who  proceeds  in  this  methocl 
involves  his  subject  in  disorder  and  indistinctness. 

493.  Secondly,  in  division,  we  must  take  care  iofolloio 
the  order  of  nature;  beginning  wit^i  the  simplest  points,  such 
as  are  easiest  apprehended,  and  necessary  to  be  first  discuss- 
ed ;  and  proceeding  thence  to  those  which  are  built  upon 
the  former,  and  which  suppose  them  to  be  known.  We 
must  divide  the  subject  into  those  parts  into  which  it  is  most 
easily  and  naturally  resolved  ;  that  it  may  seem  to  split 
itself,  and  not  be  violently  torn  asunder:  "Dividere,"  as  is 
commonly  said,  "  non  frangere.'' 

494.  Thirdly,  the  several  members  of  a  division  ought  to 
exhaust  the  subject;  otherwise,  we  do  not  make  a  complete 
division  ;  we  exhibit  the  subject  by  pieces  and  corners  only, 
-without  giving  any  such  plan  as  displays  the  whole. 

495.  Fourthly,  the  terms  m  which  our  partitions  are  ex- 
pressed, shouUrbc  as  concise  as  possible.  Avoid  all  circum- 
locution here.  Admit  not  a  single  word  but  what  is  neces- 
sary. Precision  is  to  be  studied,  above  all  thin-j's,  in  laying 
down  your  method.  "^ 

Obs.  It  is  this  which  chiefly  makes  a  division  appear  neat  and  ele- 
gant ;  when  the  several  heads  are  propounded  in  th«  clearest,  most 
f  ypre^sive.   and,   at  the  same  time,   ihe  fewest  words  possible.     This 


'  ^0  Conduct  of  a  Discourse  in  all  it^  Paris. 

never  fails  to  strike  the  hearers  agreeably  ;  and  ig,  at  the  same  time,  of 
fjreat  consequence  towards  making  the  divisions  be  more  easily  re- 
membered. 

496.  Fifthly,  avoid  an  unnecessary  niultiplicatioii  ol 
heads.  To  split  a  subject  into  a  great  many  minute  parts, 
bj  divisions  and  subdivisions  without  end,  has  always  a  bad 
eftect  in  speaking. 

Obs.  It  may  he  propn  :        ;   l^it    it    makes  an  ora- 

tion appear  hard  and  dry,  and  unueceiisarily  fatigues  the  memory.  In 
a  sermon,  there  may  be  from  three  to  live  or  six  heads,  inchidinj^  sub- 
ilivisions  ;  seldom  should  there  be  more. 

497.  The  next  constituent  part  <  ;    , 
mentioned,  was  narration^  or  expUculion. 

Obs.  We  jmt  these  t  vo  together,  both  because  th\ 
tiie  same  rules,  and  because  they  comui:  Lly  answer  tlie  same  purpose  ; 
serving   to  ilhistrate    liie  cause,    or  the  subject   of   which  the  orator 
ireats,   bcforr  ds  to  art^ue  either  on  one  side  or  other  ;  or  to 

make  any  a(i  lerosting  the  passions  of  the  hearers. 

///U5.  1.  In  ,.-...; ^>  at  ilie  bar,  narration  is  often  a  very  important 

part  of  the  discourse,  and  requires  to  be  particularly  attended  to.  Be- 
sides its  being  in  no  case  an  easy  matter  to  relate  with  grace  and  pro- 
priety, there  i«,  in  narrations  at  the  bar,  a  pecidinr  difficulty.  The 
pleader  must  say  ntMhing  but  what  is  true  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  he 
^   ■  *   -      :  '     ^yingf  any  thing  that  will  hurt  Iiis  cause. 

:s  which  he  relates,  are  to  be  the  ground-work  of  all  his 
ling.     To  recount   them  so  as  to    keep  strictly  withhi  the 
boanus  oi  u  uth,  and  yet  to  present  ihcm  under  the  colours  most  fa- 
vourahio  to  hi»  rause  \  to  place,  in  the  most  striking  Ught,  every  cir- 
rui                    '      '    ii  to   hf«;  i\<]  '  •     soften  and  weaken  such 

;y                                in,  demaii  on  of  skill  and  dexterity. 

♦  ir  ...  .  ,  .  ;omembrr,    i ..     ^^ors  too  much  art,  he  de- 

bits liis  own  purpose,  and  creates  a  distrust  of  his  sincerity. 

498.  To  be  clear  and  distinct,  to  be  probabhy  and  to  be 
rncise,  are  the  qualilies  which  ciitics  chiefly  require  in  nar- 

tationj  each  of  •- S'-  '»  .— i.'^.  ^.>/r,..;....,i,-  .k^.  ..,  ;j,.,...^  of 
Its  importance. 

[Uus.  1.  .Distinr!ri's.;  \;v\ong>  t.^  fho  wlifvlo  ttain  oith:-  «:i>^cnurso,  but 

especially  requi>ite  in  narratinn^  which  ou^ht  to  throw  light  on  all 

"  '"ilows.     A  fact,  or   n  single  circumstance  left  in  obscurity,   and 

K'hended  by  th^  judge,   may  destroy  the  effect  of  all  the  argu- 

id  reasoning  which  the  speaker  cinjloys.     If  his  narration  be 

ipn.bablc,  the  jjidge  will  not  regard  ii  <  dious  and  dif- 

i>e,  he  will  be  tiretJ  of  ijt,  and  forget  ii 

2.  In  oriler  to  produce  distinchiess,  besm  •»  i.ic  sumv  of  the  general 
rules  of  perspicuity  which  were  formerly  givon,  narration  requires  par- 
tioidar  attention   to   ascertain   clearly  the  jinmes,  the  daUs,  ihe  :?lucts. 

ij  ecery  other  material  circumstance  of  the  facts  recounted. 

3.  In  order  to  be  ;;r(/6a6/e  in  narration,   it  is   material  toe. 

ihc  characters  of  the  personj  of  whom  we  speak,  and  to  show  that  nicu 
actions  proceeded  from  such  rnolUcs  as  arc  natural^  and  likely  to  gain 
belief. 


TliB  argumeniatite  or  reasoning  Part,  251 

4.  Ill  order  to  bo  as  co^ncise  as  the  subject  will  admit,  it  is  nccessarf' 
io'lhroxv  out  all  superfluous  circumstances  ;  the  rejection  of  which  will 
likewise  tend  to  make  Our  narration  more  forcible  and  more  clear- 

Obs.  In  sermons,  where  there  is  seldom  any  occasion  for  narration, 
explication  oi'  the  subject  to  be  discoursed  on,  comes  in  the  place  of 
narration  at  the  bar,  and  is  to  be  taken  up  much  on  the  same  tone  ; 
that  i^,  it  must  be  concise,  clear,  and  distinct  ;  and  in  a  style  correct 
and  eleg-ant,  rather  than  highly  adorned.  To  expdain  the  doctrine  of 
the  test  with  propriety  ;  to  give  a  full  and  perspicnous  account  of  the 
nature  of  that  virtue  or  duty  which  forms  the  subject  of  the  disconrsie, 
is  properly  the  didactic  part  of  preaching-  ;  on  the  right  execution  di' 
^vhich  much  depends  for  all  that  comes  afterwards  in  the  way  of  per- 
suasion. 

499.  Of  the  argummiative  or  recifionhig  part  of  a  dis- 
coMPse,  In  whatever  place,  or  on  whatever  subject  one 
speaks,  this,  beyond  doubt,  is  of  the  greatest  consequence. 
For  the  great  end  for  which  men  speak  on  any  serious  occa- 
sion, is  to  convince  their  hearers  of  something  being  either 
true,  or  right,  or  good  ;  and,  by  means  of  this  conviction,  to 
influence  their  practice.  Reason  and  argument  make  the 
foundation  of  all  manly  and  persuasive  eloquence. 

500.  Now,  with  respect  to  arguments,  three  things  are  re- 
quisite. 

First,  i\\^  invenlion  of  them  ; 

Secondly,  the  proper  disposition  and  arrangement  of  them ; 
And,  thirdly,  the  expressing  of  them  in  such  a  style  and 
manner,  as  to  give  them  their  full  force. 

501.  The  first  of  these,  invention,  is,  without  doubt,  the 
most  material,  and  the  ground-work  of  the  rest. 

Obs.  1.  But,  with  respect  to  this,  it  is  beyond  the  power  of  art  to  give 
any  real  assistance.  Art  cannot  go  so  far,  as  to  supply  a  speaker  with 
arguments  on  every  cause,  and  every  subject  ;  though  it  may  be  of 
considerable  use  in  assistiu!^  him  to  arrange  and  express  those,  wiilch 
his  knowledge  of  the  subject  has  discovel-ed.  For  it  is  one  thing  to 
dascover  the  reasons  that  are  most  proper  to  convince  men,  and  an- 
other, to  manage  these  reasons  with  tlie  most  advantage.  The  latter 
is  all  that  to  which  rhetoric  can  pretend. 

2.  The  assistance  tliat  can  be  given,  not  wiili  respect  to  the  mrc72tio7i, 
but  with  respect  to  the  dis-position  ami  conduct  of  argumenls.  may  be 
reduced  to  the  following  methods. 

50:2.  Two  different  methods  may  be  used  by  orators  in  the 
conduct  of  their  reasoning.  The  terms  of  art  for  these 
methods  are,  the  analytic,  and  the  synthetic  m^ihad, 

Illns.  The  analytic  is  that  in  which  the  orator  conceals  his  intention 
concerning  the  point  he  is  to  prove,  till  he  has  gradually  brought  his 
hearers  to  the  designed  conclusion.  They  are  l**-:*  on, 'step  by  step, 
from  one  known  truth  to  another,  till  the  conclusion  be  stolen  upo« 
them,  as  the  natural  consequence  of  a  chahi  of  propositions. 

Example.  When  one,  intending  to  prove  the  being  of  a  God,  sets  cir 


9.54  Conduct  of  a  Discourse  in  all  its  Paits, 

a  (lifTiise  and  spreading:  method,  beyond  the  bounds  of  reasonable  i! 
}iistration,  is  always  enfeebling".  It  takes  off  greatly  from  that  strength 
and  sharpness  which  should  be  the  distinguishing  character  of  the  ar- 
ofumcntative  part  of  a  discourse.  When  a  speaker  dwells  long  on  a 
favourite  argument,  and  seeks  to  turn  it  into  every  possible  light,  it  al- 
most always  happens,  that,  fatigued  with  the  effort,  he  loses  the  spirit 
with  which  he  set  out,  and  concludes  with  feebleness  what  he  began 
with  force.     There  is  a  proper  tempern*  soning,  as  tl 

other  parts  of  a  discourse. 

510.  After  tlue  attention  given  to  the  proper  ariaugc- 
nient  of  arguments,  what  is  next  requisite  for  their  success, 
is,  to  express  them  in  such  a  style,  and  to  deliver  them  in 
-uch  a  manner,  as  shall  give  them  full  force. 

oil.  We  now  proceed  to  another  essential  part  of  dis- 
course, which  was  mentioned  as  the  fifth  in  order,  that  is,  tlie 
pathetic;  in  which,  if  any  eloquence  reigns,  and 

exerts  its  power. 

512.  On  the  head  of  the  pathetic,  the  following  directions 
may  be  found  useful.  ' 

513.  The  first  is  to  consider  carefully,  whether  the  sub- 
ject admit  the  pathetic,  and  render  it  proper;  and  if  it  does, 
^^  hat  part  of  the  discourse  is  this  most  proper  for  attempt- 
ing it. 

01^3.  1.  To  determine  these  points  belongs  to  good  sense  ;  for  it  is 
'  vident,  that  there  are  many  subjects  which  admit  not  the  pathetic  at 
ill,  and  that  even  in  those  that  are  susceptible  of  it,  nn  attenipt  to  ex- 
ile the  passions  in. the  wrong  place,  may  expose  an  orator  to  ridicule. 
\ll  that  can  be  said  in  c^eneral  is,  that  if  we  expect  any  emotion  which 
^^  0  raise  to  have  a  lasting  effect,  we  must  be  careful   to  bring  over  to 
!r  side,  in  the  first  place,  the  understanding  and  judgment. 
2.  The  hearers  must  bo  convinced  that  there  are  good  and  sufficient 
rounds  for  their  entering  with  warmth  into  the  cause.     They  must  be 
ible  to  justity  to  themselves  the  passion  which  they  feel  ;  aiu' 
-.;tisfied  that  they  are  not  carried  away  by  mere  delasion. 

8,  Unless  their  minds  be  brought  into  this  state,  although  lliey  may 
have  been  heated  by  the  orator's  discourse,  yet,  as  soon  as  he  ceases  to 
<;peak,they  will  resume  their  ordinary  tone  of  thought  ;  and  the  emo- 
{'•n\  which  he  has  raised  will  produce  no  effect. 

4.  Hence  most  writers  assign  the  pathetic  to  the  peroration  or  con- 
Uision,  as  its  natural  place  ;  and,  no  doubt,  all  other  things  being 
(jual,  this  is  the  impression  that  one  would  chusc  to  make  last,  leav- 
1  ig  the  minds  of  the  hearers  warmed  with  the  subject,  after  argument 
md  reasoning  had  produced  their  full  effect :  but  wherever- it  is  intro- 
iuced,  observe, 

514..  In  the  second  place,  never  to  set  apart  a  head  of  a 
discourse  in  form,  for  raising  any  passion  ;  never  give  warn- 
ing that  you  are  about  to  be  pathetic  ;  and  call  upon  your 
hearers,  as  is  sometimes  done,  to  fiillow  you  in  the  attempt. 
Tliis  almost  never  fails  to  prove  a  refrigerant  to  passion.    It 


The  pathetic  Patt  ^55 

puts  the  hearers  immdiately  on  their  guard,  and  disposes 
them  for  criticising,  much  more  than  for  being  moved. 

Obs.  The  indirect  method  of  making  an  impression  is  likely  to  be 
more  successful,  when  you  seize  the  critical  moment  that  is  favourable 
to  emotion,  in  whatever  part  of  the  discourse  it  occurs,  and  then,  after 
due  preparation,  throw  in  such  circumstances,  and  present  such  glow- 
ing- imag^es,  as  may  kindle  their  passions  before  they  are  aware.  This 
can  often  be  done  more  happily,  in  a  {cv^  sentences  inspired  by  natu- 
ral warmth,  than  in  a  long  and  studied  address, 

515.  In  the  third  place,  it  is  necessary  to  observe,  that 
there  is  a  great  difterence  between  showing  the  hearers  tlvat 
they  ought  to  be  moved,  and  actually  moving  them. 

lllus.  To  every  emotion  or  passion,  nature  has  adapted  a  set  of  cor- 
responding objects;  and,  without  setting  these  before  the  mind,  it  is 
not  in  the  power  of  any  orator  to  raise  that  emotion.  I  am  warmed 
with  gratitude,  I  am  touched  witJi  compassion,  not  when  a  speaker 
shows  me  that  these  are  noble  dispositions,  and  that  it  i»  my  duty  to 
feel  them  ;  or  when  he  exclaims  against  me  for  my  indifference  and 
coldness.  All  this  time,  he  is  speaking  only  to  my  reason  or  con- 
science. He  must  describe  the  kindness  and  tenderness  of  my  friend  ; 
he  must  set  before  me  the  distress  suffered  by  the  person  for  whcrn  he 
would  interest  me  ;  then,  and  not  till  then,  my  lieart  begins  to  be 
touched,  my  gratitude  or  my  compassion  begins  to  flow. 

Scholiuiii.  The  foundation,  therefore,  of  all  successive  execution  in 
the  way  of  pathetic  oratory  is,  to  paint  the  object  of  that  passion  whicli 
we  wish  to  raise,  in  the  most  natural  and  striking  manner  ;  to  describe 
this  object  with  such  circumstances  as  are  likely  to  awaken  in  th^ 
minds  of  others  the  passion  which  we  wish  to  raise.  Every  passion  is 
most  strongly  excited  by  sensation  ;  as  anger  by  the  feeling  of  an  in- 
JHry,  or  the  presence  of  the  injurer.  Next  to  the  influence  of  sense,  is 
that  of  memory  ;  and  next  to  meniory,  is  the  influence  of  the  imagina- 
tion. Of  this  power,  therefore,  the  orator  must  avail  himself,  so  as  to 
strike  the  imagination  of  the  hearers  with  circumstances  which,  in 
lustre  and  steadiness,  resemble  those  of  sensation  and  rtmembrance. 
In  order  to  accomplish  this, 

516.  In  the  foutth  place,  the  only  eflcctual  method  is,  to 
be  liioved  yourselves.  Hiere  are  a  lliousand  interesting 
^circumstances  suggested  by  real  passion,  which  no  art  can 
imitate,  and  no  refinement  can  supply.  There  is  obviously 
a  contagion  among  the  passions. 

Obs.  The  int(^rnal  emotion  of  the  speaker  adds  a  pathos  to  his  wordsi, 
his  looks,  his  gestures,  and  his  Vvhole  inanrier,  which  exerts  a  power 
almost  irresistible  over  those  who  hear  him.  But  on  this  point,  though 
the  most  material  of  all,  we  shall  n6t  insist,  as  j,dl  attempts  towards 
becoming  pathetic,  when  we  are  not  moved  ourselves,  expose  us  to 
certain  ridicule. 

517.  In  the  fifth  place,  it  is  necessary  to  attend  to  the 
proper  language  of  the  passions.  We  should  observe  in 
what  manner  any  one  expresses  himself  who  is  under  the 


54  Conduct  of  a  Discourse  in  all  its  Pmts. 

i\  (lifTasc  and  spreading  method,  beyond  the  bounds  of  reasonable  i! 
lustration,  is  always  enfeebling.  It  takes  off  greatly  from  that  strength 
and  sharpness  which  should  be  the  distinguishing  character  of  the  ar- 
gumentative part  of  a  discourse.  When  a  speaker  dwells  long  on  a 
favourite  argument,  and  seeks  to  turn  it  into  every  possible  light,  it  al- 
most always  happens,  that,  fatigued  with  the  effort,  he  loses  the  spirit 
ifh  which  he  set  out,  and  conckuirs  with  feebleness  what  he  begau 
^ith  force.     There  is  a  prop*  >  sre  in  reasoning,  as  there  is  in 

t  her  parts  of  a  discourse. 

510.  After  due  attention  given  to  the  proper  arrange- 
u^ent  of  arguments,  what  is  next  requisite  for  their  success, 
'-'<,  to  express  them  in  such  a  style,  and  to  deliver  them  in 
iich  a  manner,  as  shall  give  them  full  force. 

5)1.  We  now  proceed  to  another  essential  part  of  dis- 
ourse,  which  was  mentioned  as  the  fifth  in  order,  that  is,  the 
viHETic;  in  which,  if  any  where,  eloquence  reigns,  and 
rxerts  its  power. 

512.  On  the  head  of  the  pathetic,  the  foUowino- directions 
may  be  found  useful. 

513.  The  first  is  to  consider  carefully,  whether  the  sub- 
ject admit  the  pathetic,  and  render  it  proper;  and  if  it  does, 
V  hat  part  of  the  discourse  is  the  most  proper  for  attempt- 
ing it. 

Ol^s.  1.  To  determine  these  points  belongs  to  good  sense  ;  for  it  is 
«  vident,  that  there  are  many  subjects  which  admit  not  the  pathetic  at 
all,  and  that  even  in  those  that  are  susceptible  of  it,  an  attempt  to  ex- 
oito  the  passions  inthc  wrong  place,  may  expose  an  orator  to  ridicule. 
vll  that  can  be  said  in  general  is,  that  if  we  expect  any  emotion  which 
'  1'  rai.se  to  have  a  lasting  effect,  we  must  be  careful   to  bring  over  to 
•r  side,  in  tlie  first  place,  the  understanding  and  judgment. 
2.  The  hearers  must  be  convinced  tliat  (here  are  good  and  sufTicicnt 
rounds  for  their  entering  with  warmth  into  the  cause.     Thrv  must  be 
able  to  justily  to  themselves  the  passion  which  they  feel 
satisfied  tlmt  they  are  not  carried  away  by  mere  delasion 

o.  Unices  their  minds  be  brought  into  this  slate,  althoii-li  tlicy  may 
have  been  licated  by  the  orator's  discourse,  yet,  as  soon  as  he  ceases  to 
'tpeakjthey  will  resume  their  ordinary  tone  of  thought  ;  and  the  emo- 
•  n  which  he  has  raised  will  produce  no  effect. 

4.  Hence  most  writers  assign  the  pathetic  to  the  peroration  or  con- 
i:lusiou,  as  its  natural  place  ;  and,  no  doubt,  all  other  things  being 
equal,  this  is  the  impression  that  one  would  chuse  to  make  last,  leav- 
ing the  minds  of  the  hearers  warmed  with  the  subject,  after  argument 
and  reasoning  had  produced  their  full  eflect  :  but  wherever  it  is  intro- 
duced, observe, 

514..  In  the  second  place,  never  to  set  apart  a  head  of  a 
discourse  in  form,  for  raising  any  passion  ;  never  give  warn- 
ing that  you  are  about  to  be  pathetic  ;  and  call  upon  your 
hearers,  as  is  sometimes  done,  to  follow  you  in  the  attempt. 
This  almost  never  fails  to  prove  a  refrigerant  to  passion.    It 


The  pathetic  Patt  255 

puts  the  hearers  immdiatelj  on  their  guard,  and  disposes 
them  for  criticising,  much  more  than  for  being  moved. 

Obs.  The  hidirect  inelhcd  of  making  an  impression  is  likely  to  be 
more  successfi!l,  when  you  seize  the  critical  moment  that  is  favourable 
to  emotion,  in  whatever  part  of  the  discourse  it  occurs,  and  then,  after 
due  preparation,  throw  in  such  circumstances,  and  present  such  glow- 
ing- images,  as  may  Uindle  their  passions  before  they  are  aware.  This 
can  often  be  done  more  happily,  in  a  few  sentences  inspired  by  natu- 
ral warmth,  than  in  a  long  and  studied  address, 

515.  In  the  third  place,  it  is  necessary  to  observe,  that 
there  is  a  great  difterence  between  showing  the  hearers  tlvat 
they  ought  to  be  moved,  and  actually  moving  them. 

Illus.  To  every  emotion  or  passion,  nature  has  adapted  a  set  of  cor- 
responding objects  ;  and,  without  setting  these  before  the  mind,  it  is 
not  in  the  power  of  any  orator  to  raise  that  emotion.  I  am  warmed 
with  gratitude,  I  am  touched  witli  compassion,  not  when  a  speaker 
shows  me  that  these  are  noble  dispositions,  and  that  it  i»  my  duty  to 
feel  them  ;  or  when  he  exclaims  against  me  for  my  indifference  and 
coldness.  All  this  time,  he  is  speaking  only  to  my  reason  or  con- 
science. He  must  describe  the  kindness  and  tenderness  of  my  friend  3 
he  must  set  before  me  the  distress  suffered  by  the  person  for  whcm  he 
would  interest  me  )  then,  and  not  till  then,  my  iieart  begins  to  be 
touched,  my  gratitude  or  my  compassion  begins  to  flow. 

Scholium.  The  foundation,  therefore,  of  all  successive  execution  in 
the  way  of  pathetic  oratory  is,  to  paint  the  object  of  that  passion  which 
we  wish  to  raise,,  in  the  most  natural  and  striking  manner  J  to  describe 
this  object  with  such  circumstances  as  are  likely  to  awaken  in  th^ 
minds  of  others  the  passion  which  we  wish  to  raise.  Every  passion  is 
most  strongly  excited  by  sensation  ;  as  anger  by  the  feeling  of  an  in- 
jury, or  the  presence  of  the  injurer.  Next  to  the  iniluence  of  sense,  is 
that  of  memory  ;  and  next  to  memory,  is  the  influence  of  the  imagina- 
tion. Of  this  power,  therefore,  the  orator  must  avail  himself,  so  as  to 
strike  the  imagination  of  the  hearers  with  circumstances  v.hieh,  in 
lustre  and  steadiness,  resemble  those  of  sensation  and  remembrance. 
In  order  to  accomplish  this, 

516.  In  the  fourth  place,  the  only  effectual  method  is,  to 
be  liioved  yourselves.  There  ai^e  a  tliousand  interesting 
circumstances  suggested  by  real  passion,  which  no  art  can 
imitate,  and  no  refinement  can  supply.  There  is  obviously 
a  contagion  among  the  passions. 

Obs.  The  intf^rnal  emotion  of  the  speaker  adds  a  pathos  to  his  words:, 
his  looks,  his  gestures,  and  his  Vvhole  manner,  which  exerts  a  power 
almost  irresistible  over  those  who  hear  him.  But  on  this  point,  thougri 
the  most  material  of  all,  we  shall  n6t  insist,  as  jdl  attempts  towards 
bcconjing  iialhetic,  when  we  are  not  moved  ourselves,  expose  us  to 
certain  ridicule. 

517.  In  the  fifth  place,  it  is  necessary  to  attend  to  the 
proper  language  of  the  passions.  We  should  observe  in 
what  manner  any  one  expi^esses  himself  who  is  uiider  the 


256  €onduet  of  a  Discourse  in  all  its  Parts* 

power  of  a  real  and  a  strong  passion  ;  and  we  shall  alwavi^ 
iind  his  language  unuffected  and  simple. 

Ill.fS.  1.  It  may  be  animated,  indeed,  with  bold  and  strong  figurcF, 
but  it  t^'^l}  have  no  ornament  or  finery.  He  is  not  at  leisure  to  foUow 
out  (he  play  of  imagination.  His  mind  being  wholly  Seized  by  one  ob- 
ject, which  lias  heated  it,  he  has  no  other  aim,  but  to  represent  that  iii 
all  its  circumstances,  as  strongly  as  he  feels  it. 

2.  This  must  be  the  style  of  Jhc  orator  when  he  would  be  pathetic  ; 
and  this  will  be  his  j;tyle,  if  he  speaks  from  real  feeling  ;  bold,  ardent, 
<<imple.  No  sort  of  description  will  then  succeed,  but  what  is  written 
'^  fcrvente  calamo."  If  he  stay  till  he  can  work  up  his  style,  and  pol- 
ish and  adorn  it,  he  will  infallibly  cool  his  own  ardour  ;  and  then  he 
will  touch  the  heart  no  more.  His  composition  will  become  frigid  ;  it 
will  bf»  the  language  of  one  who  describes,  but  who  does  not  feel, 

8.  We  must  take  notice,  that  there  is  a  great  difference  between 
]»ainting  to  the  imagination,  and  painting  to  the  heart.  The  one  may 
be  done  coolly  and  at  leisure  :  the  oihor  must  always  be  rapid  and  ar- 
dent. In  the  former,  art  and  labour  may  be  sulVered  to  appear  ;  in  the 
fatter,  no  effect  can  follow,  unless  it  seem  to  be  the  work  of  nature  only. 

518.  In  the  sixth  place,  avoid  interweaving  any  thing  of  a 
foreign  imturc  with  the  pathetic  part  of  a  discourse. 

Ohs  1.  Beware  of  all  digressions,  which  may  interrupt  or  turn  aside 
liie  natural  course  of  the  passion,  when  once  it  begins  to  rise  and  swell. 

2.  iSacrificc  all  beauties,  however  bright  and  showy,  which  would 
divert  the  mind  from  the  principal  object,  and  which  would  amuse  the 
imagination,  rather  than  touch  the  heart. 

3.  Hence  comparisons  are  always  dangerous,  and  gtnrrallv  quite 
improper,  in  the  midst  of  passion. 

4.  Beware  even  of  reasoning  unseasonably;  or  at  least,  of  carrying 
on  a  long  and  subtile  train  of  reasoning,  on  occagions  when  theprinci' 
pal  aim  is  to  excite  warm  emotions. 

519.  In  the  last  place,  never  attempt  prolonging  the  ])a- 
lietic  too  much.  A\  arm  emotions  are  too  violent  to  be  last- 
ing. Study  the  proper  time  of  making  a  retreat ;  of  making 
i  transition  from  the  passionate  to  the  calm  tone ;  in  such  a 

:nanner,  however,  as  to  descend  w^ithout  falling,  by  keeping 
jp  the  same  strain  of  sentitnent  that  was  carried  on  before, 
though  now  expressing  it  with  more  moderation. 

Obs.  Above  all  things,  beware  of  straining  passion  too  far  ;  of  at- 
tempting to  raise  it  to  unnatural  heights.  Preserve  always  a  due  re- 
gard to  what  (he  hearers  will  bear;  and  remember,  that  he  who  stops 
not  at  the  proper  point  ;  who  attempts  to  carry  them  farther,  in  pas- 
sion, than  they  will  follow  him,  destroys  his  whole  design.  By  endeav- 
ouring to  warm  them  too  much,  he  takes  the  most  effectual  method  of 
freezing  them  completely. 

520.  Concerning  the  peroration  or  conclusion,  it  is 
needless  to  say  much,  because  it  must  vary  so  considerably, 
according  to  the  strain  of  the  preceding  discourse. 

0^f   1    Sometimes  the  wliolc  pathetic  part  cowqs  in  most  properly 


Historical  Writing.  257 

at  the  peroration.  Sometimes,  when  the  discourse  has  been  entirely 
argumentative,  it  is  fit  to  conclude  with  suraming  up  the  arguments, 
placing  them  in  one  view,  and  leaving  the  impression  of  t}iem  full  tncl 
strong  on  the  mind  of  the  audience.  For  the  great  rule  of  a  conclusion, 
and  what  nature  obviously  suggests,  is  to  place  that  last  on  which  we 
choose  that  the  strength  of  our  cause  should  rest. 

2.  In  sermons,  inferences  from  what  has  been  said,  make  a  common 
conclusion.  But  inferences  to  rise  naturally  should  so  much  agree 
with  the  strain  of  sentiment  throughout  the  discourse,  as  not  to  break 
the  unity  of  the  sermon.  For  inferences,  how  justly  soever  they  may 
be,  deduced  from  the  doctrine  of  the  text,  yet  have  a  bad  effect,  if,  at 
the  conclusion  of  a  discourse,  the}^  introduce  some  subject  altogether 
new,  and  turn  off  our  attention  from  the  main  object  to  which  the 
preacher  had  directed  our  thoughts.  They  appear,  in  this  case,  like 
excrescences  jutting  out  from  the  body,  and  forming  an  unnatural  ad. 
dition  to  it  ;  they  tend  to  enfeeble  the  impression  which  the  composi- 
tion, as  a  whole,  is  calculated  to  make. 

Scholium.  In  every  discourse,  it  is  a  matter  of  importance  to  hit  the 
precise  tim^  of  concluding,  so  as  to  bring  our  subject  just  to  a  point  ; 
neither  ending  abruptly  and  unexpectedly  ;  nor  disappointing  the  ex- 
pectation of  the  iiearers,  when  they  look  for  the  close  ;  and  continuing 
to  hover  round  and  round  the  conclusion,  till  they  become  heartily  tired 
of  us.  We  should  endeavour  to  go  off  with  a  good  grac#  ;  not  to  end 
with  a  languishing  and  drawling  sentence  ;  but  to  close  with  dignity 
and  spirit,  that  we  may  leave  the  minds  of  the  hearers  warm  ;  and 
dismiss  them  with  a  favourable  impression  of  the  subject  and  of  tfee 
speukcr. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HISTORICAL    WRITING. 

52  L  AS  it  is  the  office  of  an  orator  to  persuade,  it  is  that 
of  an  HisTouiAN  to  record  truth  for  the  instruction  of  man- 
kind. This  is  the  proper  object  and  end  of  history,  from 
which  may  be  deduced  many  of  the  laws  relating  to  its  com- 
position ;  ami  if  this  object  were  always  kept  in  view,  it 
would  prevent  many  of  the  errors  into  which  persons  arc 
apt  to  fall  concerning  this  species  of  composition. 

Obs.  As  the  primary  end  of  history  is  to  record  truth,  imparliaHty, 
Jidelliy,  and  accuracy  are  the  fundamental  qualities  of  an  historian.  He 
must  neither  be  a  panegyrist  nor  a  satirist.  He  must  not  enter  into 
faction,  nor  give  scope  to  affection  ;  but,  contemplating  past  events 
and  characters  with  a  cool  and  dispassionate  eye,  must  present  to  his 
readers  a  faithful  copy  of  human  nature. 

522,  Historical  composition  is  understood  to  comprehend 
under  it,  annals,  memoirs,  lives.  But  these  are  its  inferior 
subordinate  species,  on  which  we  shall  hereafter  make  some 


J2pt?  IFistorical  JVriting. 

reflections,  when  we  shall  have  first  considered  what  belong* 
to  a  Regular  work  of  history.  Such  a  work  is  chiefly  of  two 
kinds.  Either  the  entire  history  of  some  state  or  kingdom 
through  its  diffl'rent  revolutions,  such  as  Livy's  Roman  His- 
tory ;  Hume's  History  of  England  ;  or  the  history  of  some 
one  great  event,  or  some  portion  or  period  of  time  which  may 
be  considered  as  making  a  whole  by  itself;  such  as  Thucy- 
dides's  History  of  the  Peloponnesian  War,  Davila's  History 
of  the  Civil  VV'ars  of  France,  or  Clarendon's  of  those  of 
England  ;  Robertson's  History  of  Charles  V. 

Ohs.  1.  In  the  conduct  and  management  of  his  subject,  the  first  at- 
tention requisite  in  an  historian,  is  to  give  it  as  much  unity  as  possible  ; 
that  izj,  his  history  should  not  consist  of  separate  unconnected  parts 
merely,  but  should  be  bound  together  by  some  connecting  principle, 
whi'-h  shall  make  on  the  iniud  the  impression  of  something  that  is  one, 
whole  and  entire. 

2.  In  general  histories,  which  record  the  afla)i*s  of  a  whole  nation  or 
empire  throughout  several  ages,  this  unity  will  be  more  imperfect. 
Yet  even  there,  some  degree  of  it  can  be  preserved  by  a  skilful  writer. 
For  though  the  whole,  taken  together,  be  very  complex,  yet  the  great 
constituent  parts  of  it  form  so  many  subordinate  wholes,  when  taken 
by  themselves  ;  each  of  which  can  be  treated  both  as  complete  within 
itself,  and  as  connected  with  what  goes  before  and  follows. 

lllut.  1.  In  the  history  of  a  monarch,  for  instance,  every  reign  should 
have  its  own  unity  ;  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end,  to  the  system 
of  atTairs  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  we  are  taught  to  discern  how  that 
system  of  aflairs  rose  from  the  preceding,  and  how  it  is  inserted  into 
what  follows.  We  should  be  able  to  trace  all  the  secret  links  of  the 
chain,  which  binds  together  remote  and  seemingly  unconnected  events. 

2.  In  some  kingdoms  of  Europe,  it  was  the  plan  of  many  successive 
])rince8  to  reduce  the  power  of  their  nobles  ;  and  during  several  reigns, 
\v\oiX  o^  the  leading  actions  had  a  reference  to  this  end.  In  other 
states,  the  rising  power  of  the  Commons  influenced,  for  atract  of  time, 
the  course  and  connection  of  public  affairs. 

3.  Among  the  Romans,  the  leading  principle  was  a  gradual  exten- 
sion of  conquest,  and  the  attainment  of  universal  empire.  The  con- 
tinu.ll  increase  of  tiieir  power,  advancing  towards  this  end  from  small 
beginnings,  and  by  a  sort  of  regular  progressive  plan,  furnished  to 
Livy  a  happy  subject  for  historical  unity,  in  the  midst  of  a  great  vari- 
ety of  transactions. 

523.  In  order  to  fulfil  the  end  of  history,  the  author  must 
study  to  trace  to  their  springs  the  actions  and  events  which 
he  records.  Two  thin^^s  are  especially  necessary  for  his  do- 
ing tiii  successfully  ;  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  human 
-nature,  and  political  knowledge,  or  acquaintance  with  gov- 
ernment. The  former  is  nece^^sary  to  account  for  the  con- 
<lur,tof  individuals,  and  to  give  just  views  of  their  charac- 
ter; the  latter  to  account  f(»r  the  revolutions  of  government, 
snld  the  operation  of  political  causes  on  public  affairs.    Botli 


Bisiorical  Writing,  259 

ttiust  concur,  in  order  to  form  a  completely  instructive  his- 
torian. 

524.  The  first  requisites  of  historical  narration,  are  clear- 
ness, order,  and  due  connection.  To  attain  these,  the  histo- 
rian must  be  completely  master  of  his  subject;  he  must  see 
the  whole  as  at  one  view ;  and  comprehend  the  chain  and  de- 
pendence of  all  its  parts,  that  he  may  introduce  everything 
in  its  proper  place  ;  that  he  may  lead  us  smoothly  along  the 
tract  of  affairs  which  are  recorded,  and  may  always  give  us 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  how  one  event  arises  out  of  another. 
Without  this,  there  can  be  neither  pleasure  nor  instruction, 
in  reading  history. 

06.f.  Much  for  this  end  wiU  depend  on  the  observance  of  that  unity 
in  the  general  plan  and  conduct,  which  has  already  been  recommend- 
ed. Much  too  will  depend  on  the  proper  management  of  transitions. 
This  forms  one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of  this  kind  of  writing-,  and  is 
one  of  the  most  difficult  in  execution.  Nothing  tries  an  historian's 
abilities  more,  than  so  to  lay  his  train  beforehand,  as  to  make  us  pass 
naturally  and  agreeably  from  one  part  of  his  subject  to  another  ;  to 
employ  no  clumsy  and  awkward  junctures ;  and  to  contrive  ways  and 
means  of  forming  some  union  among  transactions,  which  seem  to  be 
most  widely  separated  from  one  another. 

525.  In  the  next  place,  as  history  is  a  very  dignified  spe- 
cies of  composition,  gravity  must  always  be  maintained  in 
the  narration.  There  must  be  no  meanness  nor  vulgarity 
in  the  style  :  no  quaint,  nor  colloquial  phrases  ;  no  affecta- 
tion of  pertness,  or  of  wit.  The  smart,  or  the  sneering  man- 
ner of  telling  a  story,  is  inconsistent  with  the  historical  cha- 
racter. 

Ohs.  On  occasions  where  a  light  and  ludicrous  anecdote  is  proper 
to  be  recorded,  it  is  generally  better  to  throw  it  into  a  note,  than 
to  hazard  becoming  too  familiar  by  introducing  it  into  the  body  of  the 
work. 

52Q,  But  an  historian  may  possess  these  qualities  of  be- 
ing perspicuous,  distinct,  and  grave,  and  may  notwithstand- 
ing be  a  dull  writer;  in  which  case  we  shall  reap  little  ben- 
efit from  his  labours. 

Obs.  We  shall  read  him  without  pleasure  ;  or,  most  probably,  we 
shall  soon  give  over  reading  him  at  all.  He  must  therefore  study  to 
render  his  narration  interesting  ;  which  is  the  quality  that  chiefly  dis- 
tinguishes a  writer  of  genius  and  eloquence. 

527.  Two  things  are  especially  conducive  to  this  ;  the 
first  is,  a  just  medium  in  the  conduct  of  narration,  between 
a  rapid  or  crowded  recital  of  facts,  and  a  prolix  detail.  The 
former  embarrasses  and  the  latter  tires  us. 

Ohs,  1.  An  historian  that  would  interest  us,  must  know  when  to  be 
23 


iSO  Historical  VP'riting* 

concise,  and  where  he  ought  to  enlarge  ;  passing  concisely  mtt 
slight  and  unimportant  events,  bat  dwelling  on  such  as  are  striking  anrf 
considerable  in  their  nature,  or  pregnant  with  consequences  ;  prepar- 
ing before  hand  our  attention  to  them,  and  bringing  them  forth  into 
the  most  full  and  conspicuous  light. 

2.  The  next  thing  he  must  attend  to,  is  «  proper  selection  of  the  cir- 
cumstances belonging  to  those  events  which  he  chooses  to  relate  fully. 
General  facts  make  a  slight  impression  on  the  mind.  It  is  by  mean^ 
of  circumstances  and  particulars  properly  chosen,  that  a  narration  be- 
comes interesting  and  affecting  to  the  reader.  1  hese  give  life,  body, 
and  colouring  to  the  recital  of  facts,  and  enable  us  to  behold  them  as 
present,  and  passing  before  our  eyes.  It  is  this  employment  of  cir- 
cumstances, in  narration,  that  is  properly  termed  historical  painting. 

528.  The  ancients  employed  one  embellishment  of  histo- 
ry which  the  moderns  have  laid  aside,  namely,  orations, 
^vhich,  on  weighty  occasions,  they  put  into  the  mouths  of 

-ome  of  their  chief  personages. 

06.?.  1.  By  means  of  these,  they  diversified  their  history  ;  they  con- 
veyed both  moral  and  political  instruction  ;  and,  by  the  opposite  ar- 
guments which  were  employed,  they  gave  us  a  view  of  the  sentiments  of 
different  parties. 

2.  Orations  may  be  an  embellishment  to  history  ;  such  might  alsD 
poetical  compositicns  be,  when  introduced  under  the  name  of  some  of 
the  personages  mentioned  in  the  narration,  who  were  known  to  have 
possessed  poetical  talents.  But  neither  can  the  one  nor  the  other  find 
a  proper  place  in  history. 

3.  Instead  of  inserting  formal  orations,  the  method  adopted  by  later 
writers  seems  better  and  more  natural  ;  that  of  the  historian,  on  some 
great  occasion,  delivering,  in  his  own  person,  the  sentiments  and  rea- 
sonings of  the  opposite  parties,  or  the  substance  of  what  was  under- 
stood to  bespoken  in  some  public  assembly  ;  which  he  may  do  without 
the  liberty  of  fiction. 

529.  The  drawing  of  characters  is  one  of  the  most  splen- 
did, and,  at  the  same  time,  one  of  the  most  difficult  orna- 
ments of  historical  composition.  For  characters  are  general- 
ly considered  as  professed  exhibitions  of  fine  writing  ;  and 
an  historian  who  seeks  to  shine  in  them,  is  frequently  in 
tlanger  of  carrying  refinement  to  excess,  from  a  desire  of  ap- 
pearing very  profound  and  penetrating.  He  brings  together 
so  many  contrasts,  and  subtile  oppositions  of  qualities,  that 
we  are  rather  dazzled  with  sparkling  expressions,  than  en- 
tertained with  any  clear  conception  of  a  human  character. 

Obs.  A  writer  who  would  characterise  in  an  instructive  and  master- 
ly manner,  should  be  simple  in  his  style,  and  should  avoid  all  quaint- 
ness  and  affectation  ;  at  the  same  time,  not  contenting  himself  with 
giving  us  general  outlines  only,  but  descending  into  those  peculiarities 
which  mark  a  character  in  its  most  strong  and  distinctive  features.  The 
Greek  historians  sometimes  give  eulogiums,  but  rarely  draw  full  and 
professed  characters.  The  two  ancient  authors  who  have  laboured 
liiis  part  of  historical  composition  most,  are  Sallust  and  Tacituj. 


Memoirs.  261 

550.  As  history  is  a  species  of  writing  designed  for  the 
instruction  of  mankind,  sound  morality  should  always  reign 
in  it  Both  in  describing  characters,  and  in  relating  trans- 
actions, the  author  should  always  show  himself  to  be  on  the 
side  of  virtue. 

Obs.  1.  To  deliver  moral  instruction  in  a  formal  manner,  falls  not 
within  his  province  ;  but  both  as  a  good  man,  a«d  as  a  good  vk^riter, 
we  expect  that  he  should  evince  sentiments  of  respect  for  virtue,  and 
an  indignation  at  flagrant  vice. 

2.  To  appear  neutral  and  indifferent  with  respect  to  good  and  bad 
characters,  and  to  affect  a  crafty  and  political,  rather  than  a  moral 
lurn  of  thought,  will,  besides  other  bad  effects,  derogate  greatly  from 
the  weight  of  historical  composition,  and  will  render  the  strain  of  it 
much  more  cold  and  uninteresting.  We  are  always  most  interested 
in  the  transactions  which  are  relating,  when  our  sympathy  is  awaken- 
ed by  the  story,  when  we  become  engaged  in  the  fate  of  the  actors 
But  this  effect  can  never  be  produced  by  a  writer  who  is  deficient  in 
sensibility  and  moral  feeling. 

531.  Memoirs  denote  a  sort  of  composition,  in  which  an 
author  does  not  pretend  to  give  full  information  of  all  the 
facts  respecting  the  period  of  which  he  writes,  but  only  to 
relate  what  he  himself  had  access  to  know,  or  what  he  was 
concerned  m,  or  what  illustrates  the  conduct  of  some  person, 
or  the  circumstances  of  some  transaction,  which  he  chooses 
for  his  subject. 

Obs.  1.  From  a  writer  of  memoirs,  therefore,  is  not  expected  the 
same  profound  research,  or  enlarged  information,  as  from  a  writer  of 
history.  He  is  not  subject  to  the  same  laws  of  unvarying  dignity  and 
gravity.  He  may  talk  freely  of  himself;  he  may  descend  into  the 
most  familiar  anecdotes.  What  is  chiefly  required  of  him  is,  that  he 
be  sprightly  and  interesting  ;  and,  especially,  that  he  inform  us  of 
things  that  are  useful  and  curious  ;  by  conveying  to  us  some  sort  of 
knowledge  worth  the  acquiring. 

2.  This  is  a  species  of  writing  very  enticing  to  such  as  love  to  write 
^concerning  themselves,  and  conceive  every  transaction  in  which  they 
had  a  share,  to  be  of  singular  importance.  There  is  no  wonder,  there- 
fore, that  a  nation  so  sprightly  as  the  French  should,  for  more  than 
two  centuries  past,  have  been  pouring  forth  a  whole  flood  of  memoirs  ; 
the  greatest  part  of  which  are  little  better  than  agreeable  trifles. 

3.  The  memoirs  of  the  Duke  of  Sully,  in  the  state  in  which  they  are 
now  given  to  the  public,  have  great  merit,  and  deserve  to  be  mention- 
ed with  particular  praise.  No  memoirs  approach  more  nearly  to  the 
usefulness,  and  the  dignity  of  a  full  authentic  history.  They  have  the 
peculiar  advantage,  of  giving  us  a  beautiful  display  of  two  of  the  most 
illustrious  characters  which  history  presents  ;  Sully  himself,  one  of  the 
ablest  and  most  incorrupt  ministers,  and  Henry  IV.  one  of  the  greatest 
and  most  amiable  princes  of  modern  times.  Dr  Blair  says,  that  he 
knows  few  books  more  full  of  virtue  and  of  good  sense,  than  Sully's 
Meiiiioirs  ;  few,  therefore,  more  proper  to  form  both  the  heads  and  the 
hearts  of  such  as  are  designed  for  public  business,  and  action,-  in  the 
world, 


26£  Biography, 

532.  Biography,  or  the  writing  of  lives,  is  a  ver}^  useftil 
kind  of  composition  ;  less  formal  and  stately  than  history  j 
but  to  the  bulk  of  readers,  perhaps,  no  less  instructive  ;  as  it 
affords  them  the  opportunity  of  seeing  the  characters  and 
tempers,  the  virtues  and  failings  of  eminent  men  fully 
displayed  ;  and  admits  them  into  a  more  thorough  and  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  such  persons,  than  history  generally 
allows. 

Obs.  1.  For  a  writer  of  lives  may  descend,  with  propriety,  into  mi- 
luite  circumstances,  and  familiar  incidents.  It  is  expected  that  he 
should  give  the  private,  as  well  as  the  public  life,  of  the  person  whose 
actions  he  records  ;  nay,  it  is  from  private  life,  from  familiar,  domes- 
tic, and  seemingly  trivial  occurrences,  that  we  often  receive  most  light 
into  the  real  character. 

2.  In  this  species  of  writing,  Plutarch  has  no  small  merit  ;  and  to 
him  we  stand  indebted  for  much  of  the  knowledge  that  we  possess,  con- 
cerning several  of  the  most  eminent  personages  of  antiquity.  His 
matter  is,  indeed,  better  than  his  manner  ;  as  he  cannot  lay  claim  to 
any  peculiar  beauty  or  elegance.  His  judgment  too,  and  his  accuracy, 
have  sometimes  been  taxed  ;  but  whatever  defects  of  this  kind  he  may 
be  liable  to,  his  Lives  of  Eminent  Men  will  always  be  considered  as  a 
valuable  treasure  of  instruction. 

3.  He  is  remarkable  for  being  one  of  the  most  humane  of  all  the 
writers  of  antiquity  ;  less  dazzled  than  many  of  them  are,  with  the 
exploits  of  valour  and  ambition  ;  and  fond  of  displaying  his  great 
men  to  us,  in  the  more  gentle  lights  of  retirement  and  private  life. 

533.  A  very  great  improvement  has,  of  late  years,  been 
introduced  into  historical  composition  ;  namely,  a  more  par- 
ticular attention  than  was  formerly  given  to  laws,  customs^ 
commerce,  religion,  literature,  and  every  oth^M-  ^inhioct  that 
tends  to  show  the  spirit  and  genius  of  nation- 

Obs.  1.  It  is  now  understood  to  be  the  business  of  an  auir  Historian, 
to  exhibit  manners,  as  well  as  facts  and  events  ;  and,  assuredly,  what- 
ever di<;plays  the  state  and  life  of  mankind,  in  difierent  periods,  and  il- 
lustrates the  progress  of  the  human  mind,  is  more  useful  and  interest- 
ing than  the  detail  of  sieges  and  battles. 

2.  The  person,  to  whom  we  arc  most  indebted  for  the  introduction 
of  this  improvement  into  history,  is  the  celebrated  M.  Voltaire,  whose 
genius  has  shone  with  surprising  lustre,  in  many  different  parts  of  lit- 
crature. 


Of  Philosophical  Writing.  265 


CHAPTER  VIL 

0F    PHILOSOPHICAL    WRITING,     DIALOGUE,    AND    EPISTOLARY 
CORRESPONDENCE. 

534.  PHILOSOPHICAL  writing.  As  the  professed  ob- 
ject of  philosophy  is  to  convey  instruction,  it  is  manifest 
that  every  philosophical  writer  ought  to  study  the  utmost 
perspicuity  with  re&pect  both  to  single  words,  and  the  con- 
struction of  sentences.  Beyond  mere  perspicuity,  strict  ac- 
curacy and  precision  are  required  in  a  philosophical  writer. 
He  should  employ  no  words  of  uncertain  meaning,  no  loose 
nor  indeterminate  expressions  ;  and  should  avoid  using 
words  which  are  seemingly  synonymous,  without  carefully 
attending  to  the  variation  which  they  make  upon  the  idea." 

Illus.  1.  To  be  clear  and  precise  then,  are  requisites  which  we  have 
a  title  to  demand  from  every  philosophical  writer.  He  may  possess 
these  qualities,  and  be  at  the  same  time  a  very  dry  writer.  He  should, 
therefore,  study  some  degree  of  embellishment,  in  order  to  render  his 
composition  pleasing  and  graceful. 

2.  One  of  the  most  agreeable,  and  one  of  the  most  useful  embellish 
ments  which  a  philosopher  can  employ,  consists  in  illustrations  takea 
from  historical  facts,  and  the  characters  of  men.  All  moral  and  politi- 
cal subjects  naturally  afford  scope  for  these  ;  and  wherever  there  i» 
room  for  employing  them,  they  seldom  fail  of  producing  a  happy  ef- 
fect. They  diversify  the  composition  ;  they  relieve  the  mind  from  the 
fatigue  of  mere  reasoning,  and  at  the  same  time  raise  more  full  convic- 
tion than  any  reasonings  produce  :  for  they  take  philosophy  out  of  the 
abstract,  and  give  weight  to  speculation,  by  shewing  its  connectioa 
with  real  life,  and  the  actions  of  mankind. 

535.  Philosophical  writing  admits,  besides,  of  a  polished, 
a  neat,  and  an  elegant  style.  It  admits  of  metaphors,  com- 
parisons, and  all  the  calm  figures  of  speech,  by  which  an  au- 
thor may  convey  his  sense  to  the  understanding  with  clear- 
ness and  force,  at  the  same  time  that  he  entertains  the  ima- 
gination. 

Ohs.  He  must  take  great  care,  however,  that  all  his  ornaments  be  of 
iht  chastest  kind,  never  partaking  of  the  florid  or  the  tumid  ;  which 
is  so  unpardonable  in  a  professed  philosopher,  that  it  is  much  better 
for  him  to  err  on  the  side  of  naked  simplicity,  than  on  that  of  too  much 
ornament. 

Illus.  In  English,  Loeke's  celebrated  Treatise  on  Human  Under- 
standing, may  be  pointed  out  as  a  model,  on  the  one  hand,  of  the  great- 
est clearness  and  distinctness  of  philosophical  style,  with  very  little  ap- 
proach to  ornament;  Lord  Shaftsbury's  writings,  on  the  other  hand, 
exhibit  philosophy  dressed  up  with  all  the  ornament  which  it  cam  ad- 


264  Dialogue  and  Epistolary  Writing, 

mit  ;  perhaps  with  more  than  is  perfectly  suited  to  it :  Stuart^s  pfaifo' 
sophical  writings  are  composed  with  elegance  and  beauty. 

536.  DiALOGUR  WRITING.  Philosopliical  composition, 
when  carried  on  in  the  way  of  dialogue  and  conversation, 
sometimes  assumes  a  form,  under  which  it  mingles  more 
with  works  of  taste. 

Ohs.  Under  this  form  the  ancients  have  given  us  some  of  their  chief 
philosophical  works  )  and  several  of  the  moderns  have  endeavoured  to 
imitate  them. 

lllus.  Dialogue  writing  may  be  executed  in  two  ways,  either  as  di- 
rect conversation,  where  none  but  the  speakers  appear,  which  is  the 
method  that  Plato  uses  )  or  as  the  recital  oi  a  conversation,  where  the 
author  himself  appears,  and  gives  an  account  of  what  passed  in  dis- 
course ;  which  is  the  method  that  Cicero  generally  follows.  But  tljpugh 
those  different  methods  make  some  variation  in  the  form,  yet  the  na- 
ture of  the  composition  is,  in  its  elements,  the  same  in  both,  «ind  is 
therefore  subject  to  the  same  laws. 

537.  A  dialogue  in  one  or  other  of  these  forms,  on  some 
philosophical,  moral,  or  critical  subject,  when  it  is  well  con- 
ducted, stands  in  a  high  rank  among  the  works  of  taste  ;  but 
is  much  more  difficult  in  the  execution  than  is  commonly 
imagined.  For  it  requires  more  than  merely  the  introduc- 
tion of  different  persons  speaking  in  succession. 

lllus.  1.  It  ought  to  be  a  natural  and  spirited  representation  of  real 
'uversation  ;  exhibiting  the  character  and   manners    of  the  several 
leakers,   and  suiting  to   the  character  of  each   that   peculiarity   of 
lought  and  expression,  which  distinguishes  him  from  another. 
2.   A  dialogue,  thus  conducted,  gives  the  reader  a  very  agreeable  en- 
tertainment ;   as  by  means  of  the  debate  going  on  among  the  persona- 
ges, he  receives  a  fair  and  full  view  of  both  sides  of  the  argument ;  and 
is,  at  the  same  tim©,  amused  with  polite  conversation,  and  with  a  dis- 
play of  consistent  and  well-supported  characters. 

Corol.  An  author,  therefore,  who  has  genius  for  executing  such  a 
composition  after  this  manner,  lias  it  in  his  power  both  to  instruct  and 
to  please. 

538.  Epistolary  writing  possesses  a  kind  of  middle 
place  between  the  serious  and  amusing  species  of  composi- 
tion. Epistolary  writing  appears,  at  first  view,  to  stretch 
into  a  very  wide  field.  For  there  is  no  subject  whatever, 
on  which  one  may  not  convey  his  thoughts  to  die  public,  iu 
the  form  of  a  letter. 

lllus.  For  instance  :  Lord  Shaftsbnry,  Mr.  Harris,  and  several  other 
writers,  have  chosen  to  give  this  form  to  philosophical  treatises.  But 
this  is  not  sufficient  to  class  such  treatises  und»'r  the  head  of  epistolary 
composition.  Though  ihey  bear,  in  the  title-page,  "  a  letter  to  a 
friend,"  after  the  first  address,  the  friend  disappears,  and  we  see  that 
it  is,  in  truth,  the  public  with  whom  the  author  corresponds.  Seneca's 
Epistles  are  of  this  sort.  There  is  no  probability  that  they  ever  passed 
in  correspondence  as  real  letters.    They  are  no  other  than  miscellane- 


Epislolary  WriUng,  9,^5 

'ttus  dissertations  on  moral  subjects  ;  which  the  author,  for  his  conven- 
ience, chose  to  put  into  the  epistolary  form.  Even  where  one  writes 
a  real  letter  on  some  formal  topic,  as  of  moral  or  religious  consolation 
to  a  person  under  distress,  such  as  Sir  William  Temple  has  written  to 
the  Countess  of  Essex  on  the  death  of  her  daughter,  he  is  at  liberty,  on 
such  an  occasion,  to  write  wholly  as  a  divine  or  as  a  philosopher,  and 
to  assume  the  style  and  manner  of  either  without  reprehension.  We 
consider  the  author  not  as  writing  a  letter,  but  as  composing  a  dis- 
course, suited  particularly  to  the  circumstances  of  some  one  person, 
Russel's  histories  are  in  the  form  of  letters. 

539.  Epistolaiy  writing  becomes  a  distinct  species  of  com- 
position, subject  to  the  cognizance  of  criticism,  only,  or  chief- 
ly, when  it  is  of  the  easy  and  familiar  kind  ;  when  it  is  con- 
versation carried  on  upon  paper,  between  two  friends  at  a 
distance. 

Illus.  1.  Such  an  intercourse,  when  well  conducted,  may  be  render- 
ed very  agreeable  to  readers  of  taste.  If  the  subject  of  tlie  letters  be 
important,  they  will  be  the  more  valuable.  Even  though  there  should 
be  nothing  very  considerable  in  the  subject,  yet  if  the  spirit  and  turn  of 
the  correspondence  be  agreeable  ;  if  they  be  written  in  a  sprightly 
manner,  and  with  native  grace  and  ease,  they  may  still  be  entertain- 
ing ;  more  especially  if  there  be  any  thing  to  interest  us,  in  the  charac- 
ters of  those  who  write  them. 

2.  Hence  the  curiosity  which  the  public  have  always  evinced,  con- 
cerning the  lettei-s  of  eminent  persons.  We  expect  in  them  to  disco- 
ver something  of  their  real  character.  It  is  childish  indeed  to  expect^ 
that  in  letters  we  are  to  find  the  whole  heart  of  the  author  unveiled. 
Concealment  and  disguise  take  place,  more  or  less,  in  all  human  in- 
tercourse. 

3.  But  still,  as  letters  from  one  friend  to  another  make  the  nearest 
approach  to  conversation,  we  may  expect  to  see  more  of  a  character 
displayed  in  these  than  in  other  productions,  which  are  designed  for 
public  view.  We  are  pleased  with  beholding  the  writer  in  a  situation 
which  allows  him  to  be  at  his  ease,  and  to  give  vent  occasionally  to  the 
overflowings  of  his  heart. 

540.  Much,  therefore,  of  the  merit,  and  the  agreeableness 
of  epistolary  writing,  will  depend  on  its  introducing  us  into 
some  acquaintance  with  the  writer.  Tiiere,  if  any  where, 
we  look  for  the  man,  not  for  the  author. 

Illus.  1.  Its  first  and  fundamental  requisite  is,  to  be  nalural  and  sim- 
'pit ;  for  a  stiff  and  laboured  manner  is  as  bad  in  a  letter,  as  it  is  in 
conversation.  This  does  not  banish  sprightliness  and  wit.  These  are 
graceful  in  letters,  just  as  they  are  in  conversation  ;  when  they  flow 
easily,  and  without  being  studied  ;  when  employed  so  as  to  season,  not 
to  cloy.  One  who,  either  ii?  conversation  or  in  letters,  affects  to  shine 
and  to  sparkle  always,  will  not  please  long. 

2.  The  style  of  letters  should  not  be  too  highly  polished.  It  ought 
to  be  neat  and  correct,  but  no  more.  All  nicety  about  words,  betrays 
study;  and  hence  musical  periods,  and  appearances  of  number  and  har- 
mony in  arrangement,  should  be  carefully  avoided  in  letters. 

3.  The  best  letters  are  commonly  such  as  the  authors  have  written 


S66  Epistolary  Writing. 

with  most  facility.  What  the  heart  or  the  imagination  dictates,  always 
flows  readily  ;  but  where  there  is  no  subject  to  warm  or  interest  these ^ 
constraint  appears  ;  and  hence.,  those  letters  of  mere  compliment,  con- 
gratulation, or  affected  condolence,  which  have  cost  the  authors  mosi 
labour  in  composing,  and  which,  for  that  reason,  they  perhaps  consider 
as  their  master-pieces,  never  fail  of  being  the  most  disagreeable  and 
•  insipid  to  the  readers. 

4.  It  ought,  at  the  same  time,  to  be  remembered,  that  the  ease  and 
simplicity  which  we  have  recommended  in  epistolary  correspondence, 
are  not  to  be  understood  as  importing  entire  carelessness.  In  writing 
to  the  most  intimate  friend,  a  certain  degree  of  attention,  both  to  the 
subject  and  the  style,  is  requisite  and  becoming.  It  is  no  more  than 
what  we  owe  both  to  ourselves,  and  to  the  friend  with  whom  we  cor- 
respond. A  slovenly  and  negligent  manner  of  writing,  is  a  disobliging 
mark  of  want  of  respect.  The  liberty,  besides,  of  writing  letters  with 
too  careless  a  hand,  is  apt  to  betray  us  into  imprudence  in  what  we 
write. 

5.  The  first  requisite,  both  in  conversation  and  correspondence,  is  to 
attend  to  all  the  proper  decorums  which  our  own  character,  and  that 
of  others,  demand.  An  imprudent  expression  in  conversation  may  be 
forgotten  and  pass  away  ;  but  when  we  take  the  pen  into  our  hand,  we 
must  remember,  that,  **  the  word  which  hath  been  written  remains.*" 

Example  I.  In  our  own  times,  several  collections  of  letters  have  is- 
sued from  (he  press.     Among  these,  Franklin's  correspondence  holds 
most  distinguiiihed  place. 

2.  But  of  all  the  letters  which  this  or  any  country  hath  produced,  the 
must  finished,  perhaps,  are  those  of  Lord  Chesterfield.  Lady  Monta- 
gu's Letters  encitle  her  to  rank  among  authors  of  a  superior  class. 

3.  The  most  distinguished  collection  of  letters,  however,  in  the  Eng- 
lish Language,  is  that  of  Pope,  Dean  Swift,  and  their  friends  ;  partly 
published  in  Pope's  works,  and  partly  in  those  of  Dean  Swift. 

•  '•  Litem  fcripta  nouiet*" 


POETRY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  ORIGIN  AND  PROGRESS  OF  POETRV. 

541.  POETRY  is  the  language  of  passion,  or  of  enliven- 
ed  imagination,  formed,  most  commonly,  into  regular  num- 
bers. 

542.  The  historian,  the  orator,  and  the  philosopher,  ad- 
dress themselves,  for  the  most  part,  primarily  to  the  under- 
standing :  their  direct  aim  is  to  inform,  to  persuade,  or  to  in- 
struct. But  the  primary  aim  of  a  poet  is  to  please,  and  to 
move;  and,  therefore,  it  is  to  the  imagination,  and  the  pas- 
sions, that  he  speaks. 

Illus.  1.  He  may,  and  he  ought  to  have  it  in  his  view,  to  instruct 
and  to  reform  ;  but  it  is  indirectly,  and  by  pleasing  and  moving-,  that 
he  accomplishes  this  end.  His  mind  is  supposed  to  be  animated  by 
some  interesting  object,  which  fires  his  imagination,  or  engages  his 
passions  ',  and  which,  of  course,  communicates  to  his  style  a  peculiar 
elevation  suited  to  his  ideas  ;  very  different  from  that  mode  of  expres- 
sion, which  is  natural  to  the  mind  in  its  calm  and  ordinary  state. 

2.  Yet,  though  versification  be,  in  general,  the  exterior  distinction  of 
poetry,  there  are  some  forms  of  verse  so  loose  and  familiar,  as  to 
be  hardly  distinguishable  from  prose ;  such  as  the  verse  of  Terence's 
comedies  ;  and  there  is  also  a  species  of  prose,  so  measured  in  its  ca- 
dence, and  so  much  raised  in  its  tone,  as  to  approach  very  near  to  po- 
etical numbers  ;  such  as  the  Telemachus  of  Fenelon,  and  the  English 
translation  of  Ossian.  Dr.  Johnson's  Rasselas  is  perhaps  of  this  class 
too. 

3.  The  truth  is,  verse  and  prose,  on  some  occasions,  run  into  one 
another,  like  light  and  shade.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  determine  the 
exact  limit  wh'?re  prose  ends,  and  poetry  begins  ;  nor  is  there  any  oc- 
casion for  being  ^'ery  precise  about  the  boundaries,  as  long  as  the  na- 
ture of  each  is  understood. 

543.  The  Greeks,  ever  fond  of  attributing  to  their  own 
nation  the  invention  of  all  sciences  and  arts,  have  ascribed 
the  origin  of  poetry  to  Orpheus,  Linus,  and  Musseus. 


26S  Fotir^y, 

Obs.  There  were,  perhaps,  such  persons  as  these,  who  were  th«  fli  st 
^■listinguished  bards  in  the  Grecian  countries.  But  long  bc»fore  such 
names  were  heard  of,  and  among  nations  where  they  were  never 
known,  poetry  existed. 

544.  It  has  been  often  said,  and  the  concurring  voice  of 
all  antiquity  affirms,  that  poetry  is  older  than  prose.  But  in 
what  sense  this  seemingly  strange  paradox  holds  true,  has 
not  always  been  well  understood.     (See  Art,  30.  and  lllus.) 

Illus.  1.  There  never,  certainly,  was  any  period  of  society  in  which 
men  conversed  in  poetical  numbers.  It  was  in  very  humbl'^  .ind  scan- 
ty prose,  as  we  may  easily  believe,  that  the  first  tribes  carried  on  in- 
tercourse among  themselves,  relating  to  the  tiecessities  of  life.  But 
from  the  very  beginning  of  society,  there  were  occasions  on  which 
they  met  together  for  feasts,  sacrifices,  and  public  assemblies  ;  and 
on  all  such  occasions,  it  is  well  known,  that  music,  song,  and  dance, 
their  principal  entertainment. 

2.  It  is  chiefly  in  America,  that  we  have  had  the  opportunity  of  be- 
ing made  acquainted  with  men  in  their  savage  state.  VVe  learn  from 
the  [.articular  and  concurring  accounts  of  travellers,  that,  among  all 
«he  nations  of  that  vast  continent,  especially  among  the  northern  tribes, 
with  whom  we  have  had  most  intercourse,  music  and  song  are,  at  all 
their  meetinos,  carried  on  with  an  incredible  degree  of  enthusiasm  ; 
that  the  chiefs  of  thf»  tribe  are  those  who  signalize  themselves  most  on 
Much  occasions  ;  that  it  is  in  songs  they  celebrate  their  religious  rites  ; 
that,  by  these,  they  lament  their  public  and  private  calamities,  the 
death  of  friends,  or  the  loss  of  warriors  ;  express  their  joy  on  their 
victories  ;  celebrate  the  great  actions  of  their  nation,  and  tlieir  heroes  ; 

xcite  each  other  to  perform  great  exploits  in  war,  or  to  suffer  death, 
Hid  tijrincnts  with  unshaken  constancy.     (Art  19.  Illiis.  I.) 

Corol.  Here  then  we  see  the  first  beginnings  of  poetic  composition, 

n  those  rude  effusions,  which  the  enthusiasm  of  fancy  or  passion  sug- 
gested to  untaught  men,  when  roused  by  interesting  events,  and  by 
;iieir  meeting  together  in  public  assemblies. 

545.  Man,  by  nature,  is  both  a  poet,  and  a  musician.  The 
>ame  impulse  which  prompted  the  enthusiastic  poetic  style^ 
prompted  a  certain  melody,  or  modulation  of  sound,  suited 
to  the  emotions  of  joy  or  grief,  of  admiration,  love,  or  anger. 
There  is  a  power  in  sound,  which,  partly  from  nature,  part- 
ly from  habit  and  association,  makes  such  pathetic  impres- 
sions on  the  fancy,  as  deliglit  even  the  most  wild  barbarians. 

Coral.  Music  and  poetry,  therefore,  had  the  same  rise  ;  they  were 
prompted  by  the  same  occasions;  they  were  united  in  song  ;  and,  as 
long  as  they  continued  united,  they  tended,  without  doubt,  mutually  to 
heighten  and  exalt  each  other's  power. 

546.  The  first  poets  sung  their  own  verses:  and  hence 
the  beginning  of  what  we  call  versification,  or  words  arran- 
ged in  a  more  artful  order  than  prose,  so  as  to  be  suited  to 
some  tune  or  melody. 

Jlfus.  The  liberty  of  transposition,  «r  inversion,  which  the  peetle 


The  Origin  and  Progress*  269 

style  would  naturally  assume,  made  it  easier  to  form  the  words  int© 
some  sort  of  numbers  that  fell  in  with  the  music  of  the  song.  Very  harsh 
and  ancouth,  we  may  easily  believe,  these  numbers  would  be  at  first. 
But  the  pleasure  was  felt ;  it  was  studied  ;  and  versification,  by  degrees, 
passed  into  an  art.     (Art.  2d.  lUus.) 

Carol.  1.  It  appears  from  what  has  been  said,  that  the  first  compo- 
sitions which  were  either  recorded  by  writing  or  transmitted  by  tradi- 
tion, could  be  no  other  than  poetical  compositions.  No  other  but  these, 
could  draw  the  attention  of  men  in  their  rude  uncivilized  state.  In- 
deed they  knew  no  other. 

2.  Cool  reasoning  and  plain  discourse  had  no  power  to  attract  sav- 
age tribes,  addicted  only  to  hunting  and  war.  There  was  nothing  that 
could  either  rouse  the  speaker  to  pour  himself  forth,  or  draw  the  crowd 
to  listen,  but  the  high  powers  of  passion,  of  music,  and  of  song.  This 
vehicle,  poetry,  therefore,  and  no  other,  could  be  employed  by  chiefs 
and  legislators,  when  they  meant  to  instruct  or  animate  their  tribes. 

3.  There  is,  likewise,  a  farther  reason  why  such  compositions  only 
could  be  transmitted  to  posterity  ;  because,  before  writing  was  invent- 
ed, songs  only  could  last,  and  be  remembered.  The  ear  gave  assist- 
ance to  the  memory,  by  the  help  of  numbers ;  fathers  repeated  and 
sung  them  to  their  children  ;  and  by  this  oral  tradition  of  national  bal- 
lads, were  cenveyed  all  the  historical  knowledge,  and  all  the  instruc- 
tion, of  the  first  ages. 

547.  The  earliest  accounts  which  history  gives  us  con- 
cerning all  nations,  bear  testimony  to  these  facts.  In  the 
first  ages  of  Greece,  priests,  philosophers,  and  statesmen,  all 
delivered  their  instructions  in  poetry. 

Illus.  Apollo,  Orpheus,  and  Amphion,  their  most  ancient  bards,  are 
represented  as  the  first  tamers  of  mankind,  the  first  founders  of  law 
and  civilization.  Minos  and  Thales  sung  to  the  lyre  the  laws  which 
they  composed*  ;  and  till  the  age  immediately  preceding  that  Hero- 
dotus, history  had  appeared  in  no  other  form  than  that  of  poetical  tales. 

548.  In  the  same  manner,  among  all  other  nations,  poets 
are  the  first  literary  characters,  and  songs  are  the  first  com- 
positions, that  make  their  appearance.  {Illus,  "Z,  Art.  544. 
and  Art,  9.1.) 

Jllus.  Among  the  Scythian  or  Gothic  nations,  many  of  their  kings 
and  leaders  were  scalders,  or  poets  ;  and  it  is  from  their  runic  songs, 
that  the  most  early  writers  of  their  history,  among  whom  we  may 
reckon  Saxo-Grammaticus,  acknowledged,  that  they  had  derived  their 
chief  information.  Among  the  Celtic  tribes,  in  Gaul,  Britain,  and 
Ireland,  we  know,  in  what  admiration  their  bards  were  held,  and  what 
great  influence  they  possessed  over  the  people.  They  were  both  po- 
et«  and  musicians,  in  each  of  these  countries.  They  were  always  near 
the  person  of  the  chief  or  sovereign  ;  they  recorded  all  his  great  ex- 
ploits ;  they  were  employed  as  the  ambassadors  between  contending 
tribes,  and  their  persons  were  held  sacred. 

549.  Diversity  of  climate  and  of  manner  of  living,  hath 
occasioned  some  diversity  in  the  strain  of  the  first  poetrj 


270  Poetry* 

of  nations ;  chiefly,  according  as  those  nations  are  of  a  mor«f 
ferocious,  or  of  a  more  gentle  spirit ;  and  according  as  thej 
advance  faster  or  slower  in  the  arts  of  civilization.    {*drt.  31.) 

Illus.  1.  Thus  we  find  all  the  remains  of  the  ancient  Gothic  poetry 
remarkably  fierce,  and  breathing  nothing  but  slaughter  and  blood ; 
while  the  Peruvfen  and  the  Chinese  songs  turned,  from  the  earliest 
times,  upon  milder  subjects.  The  Celtic  poetry,  in  the  days  of  Ossian,)| 
though  chiefly  of  the  martial  kind,  yet  had  attained  a  considerable 
mixture  of  tenderness  and  refinement ;  in  consequence  of  the  long 
cultivation  of  poetry  among  the  Celtae,  by  means  of  a  series  and  suc- 
cession of  bards  which  had  been  established  for  ages.  So  Lucan  in- 
forms lis  : 

Vos  tjuoque  qui  fortei  animos.  belloque  perempto* 
Laudibus  in  longuin  vates  diffunditis  %vum 
Plurima  sccuri  fudistis  carinina  baixii.*    (L.  44.) 

2.  Among  the  Grecian  states,  the  early  poetry  appears  to  have  re- 
ceived a  philosophical  cast,  from  what  we  are  informed  concerning 
the  subjects  of  Orpheus,  Linus,  and  Musa^us,  who  treated  of  creation 
nnd  of  chaos,  of  the  generation  of  the  world,  and  of  the  rise  of  things  ; 
and  we  know  that  the  Greeks  advanced  sooner  to  philosophy,  and 
proceeded  with  a  quicker  pace  in  all  the  arts  of  refinement,  than  most 
other  nations. 

3.  The  Arabians  and  the  Persians  have  always  been  the  greatest 
poets  of  the  East;  and  among  them,  as  among  other  people,  poetry 
was  the  earliest  vehicle  of  all  their  learning  and  instruction. f 

550.  During  the  infancy  of  poetry,  all  the  different  kinds 
of  it  lay  confused,  and  were  mingled  in  the  same  composi- 
tion, according  as  inclination,  enthusiasm,  or  casual  inci- 
dents, directed  the  poet's  strain. 

Illus.  1.  Odes  and  hymns  of  every  sort,  would  naturally  be  among 
the  first  compositions  ;  according  as  the  bards  were  moved  by  reli- 
gious feelings,  by  exultation,  reseiitment,  love,  or  any  other  warm 
sentiment,  to  pour  themselves  forth  in  song. 

2.  Plaintive  or  elegiac  poetry,  would  as  naturally  arise  from  la- 
mentations over  their  deceased  friends. 

3.  The  recital  of  the  achievements  of  their  heroes,  and  their  ances- 
tors, gave  birth  to  what  we  now  call  epic  poetry  ;  and  as,  not  content 
with  symply  reciting  these,  they  would  infallibly  be  led,  at  some  of 
iheir  public  meetings,  to  represent  them,  by  introducing  difierent 
hards  speaking  in  the  character  of  their  heroes,  and  anwering  each 
other,  we  find  in  this  the  first  outlines  of  tragedy,  or  dramatic  writing. 

551.  None  of  these  kinds  of  poetry,  however,  were  in  the 
first  ages  of  society  properly  distinguished  or  separated,  as 
they  are  now,  from  each  other.     Indeed,  not  only  were  the 

•  You  too.  ye  bards,  whom  sacred  raptures  fire, 
To  chaunt  your  heroes  to  your  country's  lyre, 
Who  consecrate  in  jour  iimnortal  strain, 
Brave  patriot  souls  in  righteous  battle  slain  ; 
Securely  now  the-  ustful  task  i-enew, 
And  noblest  theines  in  deatlilesj  songs  pursue.    Jimcr, 

t  Vid.  Voyagts  de  Chai^n,  chap,  de  la  Poe|ie  des  Penaiii. 


Versification.  £71 

tlifterent  kinds  of  poetry  then  mixed  together,  but  all  that 
we  now  call  letters,  or  composition  of  any  kind,  was  then 
blended  in  one  mass. 

Obs.  1.  When  the  progress  of  society  brought  on  a  separation  of 
the  different  arts  and  professions  of  civil  life,  it  led  also  by  degrees  to 
a  separation  of  the  different  literary  provinces  from  each  other. 

2.  The  art  of  writing  was  in  process  of  time  invented  ;  (Chap  V. 
Book  I.)  records  of  past  transactions  began  to  be  kept ;  men,  occupied 
with  the  subjects  of  policy  and  useful  arts,  wished  now  to  be  instructed 
and  informed,  as  well  as  moved.  They  reasoned  and  reflected  upon 
the  affairs  of  life ;  and  were  interested  by  what  was  real,  not  fabu- 
lous, in  past  transactions. 

3.  The  historian,  therefore,  now  laid  aside  the  buskins  of  poetry  ;  he 
wrote  in  prose,  and  attempted  to  give  a  faithful  and  judicious  relation 
of  former  events.  The  philosopher  addressed  himself  chiefly  to  the 
understanding.  The  orator  studied  to  persuade  by  reasoning,  and  re- 
tained more  or  less  of  the  ancient  passionate  and  glowing  style,  accor- 
ding as  it  was  conducive  to  his  purpose.     (Art.  41.  andA2.) 

Corol.  Poetry  hence  became  a  separate  art,  calculated  chiefly  to 
please,  and  confined  generally  to  such  subjects  as  related  to  the  ima- 
gination and  passions.  Even  its  earliest  companion,  music,  was  in  a 
great  measure  divided  from  it. 


CHAPTER  II. 

VERSIFICATION". 


552.  NATIONS,  whose  language  and  pronunciation 
were  of  a  musical  kind,  rested  i\\Q\vversiJication  c\\\e^y  up- 
on the  quantities,  that  is,  the  length  or  shortness  of  their 
syllables.  Others,  who  did  not  make  the  quantities  of  their 
syllables  be  so  distinctly  perceived  in  pronouncing  them, 
rested  the  melody  of  their  verse  upon  the  number  of  sylla- 
bles which  it  contained,  upon  the  proper  disposition  of  ac- 
cents and  pauses  in  reciting  it,  and  frequently  upon  that  re- 
turn of  corresponding  sounds,  which  we  call  rhyme. 

Illus.  1.  The  former  was  the  case  with  the  Greeks  and  Romans  ; 
the  latter  is  the  case  with  us,  and  with  most  modern  nations. 

2  Among  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  every  syllable,  or  at  least  by 
far  the  greatest  number  of  syllables,  was  known  to  have  a  fixed  and 
determined  quantity ;  and  their  manner  of  pronouncing  rendered 
this  so  sensible  to  the  ear,  that  a  long  syllable  was  counted  precisely 
equal  in  time  to  two  short  ones. 

3.  Upon  this  principle,   the  number  of  syllables    contained  ia  their  _ 
hexameter  verse,   was  allowed  to  vary.     It  may    extend  to  17;  it  can 
contain,   when  regular,  no  fewer  than  13  ;  but  the  musical  time  was, 

24 


^r£  Foeivy, 

notwithstanding,   precisely   the  same  in  every    hexameter  verse,    and 
was  always  equal  to  that  of  12  long  syllables. 

4.  In  order  to  ascertain  the  regular  time  of  every  verse,  and  the 
proper  mixture  and  succession  of  long  and  short  syllables  which 
ought  to  compose  it,,  what  the  grammarians  call  wie/ricf//  /ee/,  due- 
fyles,  spondees,  iambuses,  he.  were  invented.  By  these  measures  was 
tried  the  accuracy  of  composition  in  every  line,  and  whether  it  was  so 
constructed  as  to  complete  its  proper  melody. 

5.  It  was  requisite,  for  instance,  that  the  hexameter  verse  should 
have  the  quantity  of  its  syllables  so  di:<posed,  that  it  could  be  scanned 
or  measured  by  six  metrical  feet,  which  might  be  either  dactyles  or 
spondees  (as  the  musical  time  of  both  of  these  is  the  same,)  with  this 
restriction  only,  that  the  fifth  foot  was  regularly  to  be  a  dactyle,  and 
»he  last  a  spondee. 

Obs.  The  genius  of  our  language   corresponds   not  in  this    respect 

to  the  Greek    or  Latin  ;  yet,  in  the  sequel,   it  is  shewn,    that  English 

poetry  has  its  feet,  though  differently  formed   from  the  ancieiiit.      We 

•  est  the  melody  of  our  verse    upon  the  number  of  syllables  which  il 

ontains,  he.     {AH.  552.) 

Feet  and  Fauses  are  the  constituent  Farts  of  Verse. 
We  shall  consider  these  separately. 

OF    POETICAL    FEET. 

553.  A  ciertain  number  of  connected  syllables  forms  a 
foot.  These  syllables,  thus  connected,  are  called  feety  be- 
cause it  is  by  their  aid  that  the  voice,  as  it  were,  steps  along 
through  the  verse,  in  a  measured  pace ;  and  it  is  necessary 
that  the  syllables  which  mark  this  regular  movement  of  the 
voice,  should,  in  sonu^  n;ntiJUM\  hi'  distinguished  from  the 
others. 

HIhs.  1.  Tm^  (iijtiiution.  wc  u:k\v  mh-uu,  (Ulus.  1.  .^r/.  552.)  was 
;\ade  among  the  ancient  Romans,  by  dividing  their  syllables  into  long 
'lui  short,  and  ascertaining  their  quantity,  bv  an  exact  proportion  of 
time  in  sounding  them  ;  the  long  being  to  the  short,  as  two  to  one; 
and  the  long  syllables,  being  thus  the  more  important,  marked  the 
)novement. 

2.  in  English,  syllables  are  divided  into  accented  and  unaccented  ; 
JUus.  1.  Art.  552.);  and  the  accented  syllables  being  as  strongly 
distinguished  from  the  unaccented,  by  the  peculiar  stress  of  the  voice 
upon  them,  are  equally  capable  of  marking  the  movement,  and  point- 
ing out  the  regular  paces  of  the  voice,  as  the  long  syllables  %vere  by 
their  quantity,  among  the  Rotnans. 

55-U  English  feet,  formed  by  an  accent  on  vowels,  are 
exactly  of  the  same  nature  as  the  ancient  feet,  and  have  the 
same  just  quantity  in  their  syllables.  So  that,  in  this  re- 
spect, we  have  all  tljat  the  ancients  had,  and  something 
which  they  had  not.     We  have  in  fact  duplicates  of  each 


Versification,  27S 

foot,  yet  with  such  a  difference,  as  to  lit  them  for  different 
purposes,  to  be  applied  at  our  pleasure. 

Obs.  Fiom  its  natare,  every  foot  has  powers  peculiar  to  itself;  and 
it  is  upun  the  knowledge  aiid  rigFit  application  of  these  powers,  that 
the  pk^asure  and  effect  of  numbers  chiefly  depend. 

555.  All  the  feet  used  in  poetry  consist  either  of  two,  or 
of  three  syllables ;  and  are  reducible  to  eight  kinds;  namely, 
four  of  two  syllables,  ai     lOur  of  three,  as  follows: 

DISSYLLABLE.  TRISSYLLABLE. 

A  Trocheee    ^h  w  A  Dactyl    -<  u  o 

An  Iambus    o  «  Au  Amphibrach    o  h<  w 

A  Spondee    ♦h  -<  An  Anapajst    o  w  *-« 

A  Pyrrhic    w)  o  A  Tribrach    o  o  >.» 

556.  A  Trochee  has  the  first  syllable  accented,  and  the 
last  unaccented  :     as,  "  Hateful,  pettish." 

557'  An  Iambus  has  the  hrst  syllable  unaccented,  and 
the  last  accented  :  as,  "  Betray,  consist." 

558.  A  Spondee  has  both  the  words  or  syllables  accent- 
ed :  as,  "  The  pale  moon." 

559.  A^  Pyrrhic  has  both  the  words  or  syllables  unaccent- 
ed :  as,  "On  the  tall  tree." 

560.  A  Dactyl  has  the  first  syllable  accented,  and  the  two 
latter  unaccented  :  as,  "  Labourer,  possible." 

561.  An  Amphibrach  has  the  first  and  last  syllables  un- 
accented, and  the  middle  one  accented :  as,  "  Delightful, 
domestic." 

562.  An  Anapeest  has  the  two  first  syllables  unaccented, 
and  the  last  accente'd  :  as,  "  Contravene,  acquiesce." 

563.  A  Tribrach  has  all  its  syllables  unaccented:  as, 
"  Numerable,  conquerable." 

Scholium.  Some  of  these  feet  may  be  denominated  ^?nnci/ia/  feety  as 
pieces  of  poetry  may  be  wholly,  or  chiefly  formed  of  any  of  them. 
Such  are  the  Iambus,  Trochee,  Dactyl,  and  Anapaest.  The  others  may 
he  termed  secondary  feet ;  because  their  chief  use  is  to  diversify  the 
Humbers,  and  to  improve  the  verse. 

We  .shall  first  explain  the  Nature  of  the  principal  Feet, 

564.  Iambic  verses  may  be  divided  into  several  species, 
according  to  the  number  of  feet  or  syllables  of  which  they 
are  composed. 

Example  ].  The  shortest  form  of  the  English  Iambic  consists  of  an 
Jauibus,  with  an  additional  short  syllable  :  as, 
Disdainingj 
Complaining, 
Consenting, 
Repenting. 


274  Poetry. 

ire,  but  it  may  be  me( 

Ainphi 


Obs.  We  have  no  poem  of  this  measure,  but  it  may  be  met  with  m 
stanzas.     The  Iambus,  with  this  addition,  coincides  with  the  Amphi- 


brach,    (^r/.  561.) 

Example  2.  The  second  form  of  our  Iambic,  is  also  too  short  to  be 
continued  through  any  great  number  of  lines.  It  consists  of  two  lam- 
l»tise8. 

WhSt  place  is  here  ! 
What  scenes  appear  ! 
To  mc  the  rose 
No  longer  glows. 
It  sometimes  takes,  or  it  may  take,  an  additional  short  syllable  :  as, 
Upon  i  mountain 
Beside  a  fountain. 
Example  3.     The  third  form  consists  of  three  Iambuses. 

o 

In  places  far  6r  near. 

Or  famous  or  obscure. 

Where  wholesome  is  the  air. 

Or  where  the  mojt  impure. 
It  sometimes  admits  of  an  afifiitional  short  syllable:  as, 

Oiir  heart*  n6  longer  languish. 
Example  4.     The  fourth  form  is  made  up  of  four  Iambuses. 
And  miy  it  list  my  wcarV'  a;;e. 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage. 
Example  5.  The  liiili  si)ecies  of  English  Iambic,  consists  of  five  lam- 

■  'jCS. 

H5w  lov*d,  h6w  valu*d  5nce,  irails  thee  not. 
To  whom  related,  or  by  whom  bc^ot : 
A  heap  oi  dust  »lone  remains  of  thee ; 
*Ti8  all  thou  art  aud  all  the  proud  shall  be. 

Bi  wise  t6-day,  'tis  madness  to  d^fcr ; 
Next  day  the  fatal  precedent  will  plead  ; 
Thus  on,  till  wisdom  b  pushed  out  of  life. 

Obs.  This  is  called  the  heroic  measure.     In  its  simplest  torm  it  con- 

:sts  of  five  Iambuses  ;  but  by  the  admission  of  other  feet,  as  Trochees, 

Dactyls,  Anapaists,  kc.  it  is  capable  of  many  varieties.     Indeed,  most 

of  the  Kuglish  common  measures  may   be  varied  in  the  same  way,  as 

well  as  by  the  ditierent  position  of  their  pauses. 

Example  6.  The  sixth  form  of  our  Iambic,  is  commonly  called  the 
Alexandrine  measure.     It  consists  of  six  Iambuses. 

F5r  thou  art  but  5f  dust :  be  hunnblc  and  b^  wise. 

The  Alexandrine  is  sometimes  introduced  into  heroic  rhyme  ;  and 
when  used  sparingly,  and  with  judgment,  occasions  an  agreeable  va- 
riety. 

The  seas  shall  waste,  th2  skies  in  smoke  decay, 
Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  mountains  melt  away; 
But  fixM  his  word,  his  saving  pcw'r  remains  : 
Thy  realm  for  ever  lasts,  thy  own  Messiah  reigns. 

Example  7.  The  seventti  aou  last  loiin  of  our  iambic  measure,  \'- 
'lude  up  of  seveji  Iambuses. 

The  Lord  descended  from  Sbovc,  and  bOw*d  th§  heaven*  high. 


Versification,  275 


This  iras  anciently  written  in  one  line  ;  but  it  is  now  broken  into 
two  ;  the  first  containing  four  feet  and  the  second  three  : 

W!icn  al\  thy  TT.ercies,  0  my  GO'l  i 

My  rising  soul  surveys. 
Transported  with  the  view,  Tn;  lost 

In  wonder,  love,  and  praise. 

Scholium.  In  all  these  mLasurcs,  the  accents  are  to  be  placed  on 
even  sylhiMes  ;  aiid  every  line  considered  by  itself,  is,  in  general,  more 
melodious,  as  this  rule  is  more  strictly  observed. 

565.  Trochaic  verse  is  of  several  kinds. 

Example  1.  The  shorrest  Trochaic  verse  in  our  language,  consists  of 
one  Trochee  and  a  long"  syllable. 

Tumult  cease 
Sink  to  peace. 

Obs.  This  measure  is  defective  in  dignity,  and  can  seldom  be  used 
on  serious  occasions. 

Example  2.  The  second  Esi<,dish  form  of  the  Trochaic  consists  of 
livo  feet  ;  and  is  likewise  so  brief,  that  it  is  rarely  used  lor  any  very 
j<erions  purpose. 

On  the  mountain 
By  a  fountain. 

It  sometimes  contains  two  feet  or  trochees,  with  an  additional  long 
.-syllable  :  as. 

In  the  days  c5f  old 
Fables  plainly  told. 

Example  3.  The  third  species  consists  o{  three  trochees  :  as» 

Wlien  our  hearts  are  mounnng : 

or  of  three  trochees,  with  an  additional  long  syllable  ;  as. 

Restless  n^.ort^ils  toil  for  nought ; 
Bliss  in  vain  from  earth  is  sought; 
Bliss,  a  native  of  the  sky, 
Never  wanders.     Mortals,  try  ; 
There  you  cannot  seek  in  vain  ; 
For  to  seek  her  is  to  gain. 

Example  4.  The  fourth  Trochaic  species  consists  of /owr  trochees:  as, 

Round  lis  roars  the  tempest  louder. 

This  form  may  take  an  additional  long-  syllable,  as  follows  : 

IdlS  after  dinner  In  his  chair, 
Sat  a  farmer,  ruddy,  fat,  and  fair. 

But  this  measure  is  very  uncommon. 

FjXample  5.  The  fifth  Trochaic  species  is  likewise  uncommon.  It  is 
composed  oi  five  trochees. 

All  that  walk  on  foot  or  ride  in  chariots, 
All  that  dwell  in  palaces  and  garrets. 

Example  6.  The  sixth  form  of  the  English  Trochaic  consists  of  six 
trochees  :  as, 

On  a  mountain,  stretch'd  beneath  a  hoiry  willow. 
Lay  a  shepherd  swain,  and  view'd  the  rolling  billow. 
04). 


76  Poetry, 

This  seems  to  be  the  longest  Trochaic  line  that  our  language  admits, 
Obs.  In  all  these  Trochaic  measures,  the  accent  is  to  be  placed  on 
I  he  odd  syllables. 

566.  The  Dactylic  verse  being  very  uncommon,  we  shall 
'jve  only  one  example  of  one  species  of  it : 

From  the  15w  pleasures  6f  this  fillcn  nature, 
Rise  wc  to  higher,  &c. 

567.  Anapsestic  verses  are  divided  into  several  species. 

Example  1.  The  shortest  anapsestic  verse  must  be  a  single  auapsest ; 
as, 

But  In  vain. 
They  complain. 

This  measure  is,  however,  ambiguous  ;  for,  by  laying  the  stress  of 
»he  voice  on  the  first  and  third  syllables,  we  might  make  it  a  trochaic. 
\nd  therefore  the  first  and  simplest  form  of  our  genuine  Anapaestic 
ise,  is  made  up  of  two  Anapaests  :  as, 

But  hh  courige  'pin  fail. 
For  no  arts  couid  avail. 

This  form  admits  of  an  additional  short  syllable. 

Then  ht»  couiicc  *pXn  fail  him. 
For  no  arts  could  avail  him. 

Examplt  2.  The  second  species  consists  of  three  Auapa;sts. 

0  y8  wood*,  sprSad  your  branches  Jpacc ; 
To  your  deepest  recesses  I  fly ; 

1  wouUI  hide  with  the  beasts  of  the  chase ; 
I  wroiild  vanish  from  every  eye. 

This  is  a  very  pleasing  measure,  and  much  used,  both  in  solemn  and 
heerful  subjects. 
Example  3.  The  third  kind  of  the  English   Anapaistic,  consists  of 

■jur  Anapivsts. 

Miy  I  goviirn  my  passions  with  absolute  away  ; 
And  grow  w  i&cr  and  better  as  life  wears  away. 

This  measure  will  admit  of  a  short  syllable  at  the  end  ;  as, 

On  the  warm  ch^ck  of  youth,  smiles  5nd  rosifs  ire  blending. 

Obs.  The  preceding  are  the  different  kinds  of  the  principal  feet,  in 
heir  more  simple  forms.     They  are  capable  of  numerous  variations, 
V  the  intermi.xture  of  those  feet  with  each  other  ;  and  by  the  adrais- 
-lon  of  the  secondary  feet. 

568.  We  have  observed,  that  English  verse  is  composed 
of  feet  formed  by  accent,  (lllus,  2.  Art,  553.)  ;  and  that 
M  hen  the  accent  falls  on  vowels,  the  feet  are  ef^iiivalent  to 

hose  formed  by  quantity.  (Art,  554,) 

Example  1.  That  the  student  may  clearly  perceive  this  difference^ 
^c  shall  produce  a  sptcimen  of  each  kind. 

O'fr  hfaps  cf  rolnj  staikM  the  stately  hJnd, 


Versificaiwn,  ^77 

Obs.  Here  we  see  tlie  accent  is  upon  the  vowel  in  eacli  second  syl- 
lable. (Art.  552  )  In  the  following  line,  we  shall  find  the  same  Iam- 
bic movement,  but  formed  by  accent  on  consonants,  except  the  last 
syllable. 

Then  itistling,  crackling,  crashing,  thiinder  down. 

Example  2.  Here  the  time  of  the  short  accented  syllables,  is  com- 
pensated by  a  short  pause,  at  the  end  of  each  word  to  which  they  be- 
long. 

569.  We  now  proceed  to  show  the  manner  in  which  poet- 
ry is  varied  and  improved,  by  the  admission  of  secondary 
feet  into  its  composition. 

Marmuring,  and  with  him  fled  the  shades  of  night. 
Obs.  1.  The  first  foot  here  is  a  Dactyl ;  the  rest  are  Iambics. 
O'er  many  S  frozen,  mSny  a  Hery  Alp. 

2.  This  line  contains  three  Amphibrachs  mixed  with  Iambics. 

Innum2:able  before  th' Almighty's  throne. 

3.  Here,  in  the  second  foot,  we  find  a  Tribrach. 

See  the  bold  youth  striin  up  the  threat'ning  steep. 

4.  In  this  line,  the  first  foot  is  a  Trochee  ;  the  second  a  genuine 
Spondee  by  quantity  ;  the  third  a  Spondee  by  accent. 

5.  In  the  following  line,  the  first  foot  is  a  Pyrrhic,  the  second  a 
Spondee. 

That  6n  weak  wings  from  far  pursues  your  flight. 

Scholiu77i.  From  the  preceding  view  of  English  versification,  we  may- 
see  what  a  copious  stock  of  materials  it  possesses.  For  we  are  not 
only  allowed  the  use  of  all  tlie  ancient  poetic  feet,  in  our  heroic  mea- 
sure, but  we  have,  as  before  observed,  duplicates  of  each,  agreeing  in 
movement,  though  dilfering  in  measure,*  and  which  make  different 
impressions  on  the  ear  ;  an  opulence  peculiar  to  our  language,  and 
which  may  be  the  source  of  a  boundless  variety. 

570.  Another  essential  circimistance  in  the  constitution 
of  our  verse,  is  the  cxsural  pause,  v/hich  falls  towards  the 
middle  of  each  line.  Some  pause  of  this  kind,  dictated  by 
the  melody,  is  found  in  the  verse  of  most  nations. 

Obs.  It  is  found,  as  might  be  shewn,  rn  the  Latin  hexameter.  In 
the  French  heroic  verse,  it  is  very  sensible.  That  is  a  verse  of  twelve 
syllables,  and  in  every  line,  just  after  the  sixth  syllable,  there  falls  reg- 
ularly and  indispensably,  a  csesural  pause,  dividing  the  line  into  two 
equal  hemistichs. 

Example,  Jeune  et  vaillant  heros  j|  dont  la  haute  sagesse 

N'est  point  le  fruit  tardif  ||  d'une  leiite  vieilJesse, 
Qui  seul  sans  mini stre  (|  a  I'example  des  Dieux 
Soutiens  tout  par  toi-meme  ti  et  vois  tous  par  ses  veux.t 

•  Movement  and  measure  are  thus  distinguished.     Movement  expresses  the  progress- 
ive order  of  sounds,  whether  from  strong  to  M'^eak,  from  long  to  short,  or  vice  vena. 
Measure  signifies  tl*e  proportion  of  time,  both  in  sounds  and  pauses.    Murray, 
t  Boilcau. 


^78  Poelry. 

Analysis.  In  this  train  all  the  French  verses  proceed  ;  the  one  hali" 
of  the  line  always  answering  to  the  other,  and  the  same  chime  return- 
ing incessantly  on  the  ear  without  iniermission  or  change  ;  which  is 
certainly  a  defect  in  the  verse,  and  unfits  it  so  very  much  for  the  free- 
dom and  dignity  of  heroic  poetry.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  a  distin- 
guishing advantage  of  our  English  verse,  that  it  allows  the  pause  to  be 
varied  through  four  difierent  syllables  in  the  line. 

Scholium.  The  pause  may  fall  after  the  4tb,  the  5th,  the  6th,  or  the 
7th  syllable  ;  and  according  as  the  pause  is  placed  after  one  or  other 
of  these  syllables,  the  melody  of  the  verse  is  much  changed,  its  air  and 
cadence  are  diversified.  By  this  means,  uncommon  richness  and  va- 
riety are  added  to  English  versification. 

57U  When  the  pause  falls  earliest,  that  is,  after  the  fourth 
.liable,  the  briskest  melody  is  thereby  forinctl,  and  the 
lost  spirited  air  given  to  the  line. 

Example.  In  the  following  lines  of  the  Rape  of  the  Lock,  Mr.  Pope 
iS,  with  exquisite  propriety,  suited  the  construction  of  the  verse  to  the 

il.ject: 

On  her  white  breast  ji  a  sparkling  cross  she  wore, 

Which  Jcus  might  kiss  [!  .aiwl  in^■d^^ls  adore; 

Her  lively- looks  K  a  s]) I' 

Quick  ai  her  fyt  s  ||  an 

Favours  to  uotjc  ||  to  ;ii 

Oft  she  rtjects  ||  but  nev^  r  onee  uMlijUs. 

572.  When  the  pause  fells  after  the  fifth  syllable,  dividing 
the  line  into  two  equal  portions,  the  melody  is  sensibly  al- 
tered. 'J'he  verse  loses  that  brisk  and  sprightly  air,  which 
it  had  with  the  former  pause,  and  becomes  more  smooth,  gen- 
tle, and  tlowino;. 

Example*    Eternal  sunshine  ||  of  the  spotless  mind, 

Each  prayer  accepted  |i  and  each  wish  resignt^. 

573.  When  the  pause  proceeds  to  follow  the  sixth  sylla- 
!>le,  the  tenor  of  the  music  becomes  solemn  and  grave.    The 

( rse  marches  now  with  a  more  slow  and  measured  pace, 
uian  in  either  of  the  two  former  cases. 

Lxamplf.  The  V  rath  of  Peleus's  son  ||  the  direful  spring 
Of  all  the  Grecian  woes  ]|  O  goddc  ss  sing  I 

.574.  But  the  ^ave  solemn  cadence  becomes  still  more 
sensible,  when  the  pause  falls  after  the  seventh  syllable, 
^vhich  is  the  nearest  place  to  the  end  of  the  line  that  it  can 
occupy. 

0/as.  This  kind  of  verse  occurs  the  most  seldom,  but  has  a  happy  ef- 
fect in  diversifying  the  melody.  It  produces  that  slow  Alexandrian 
air,  which  is  finely  suited  to  a  close  ;  and  for  this  reason,  such  lines 
almost  never  occur  together,  but  are  used  in  finishing  the  couplet. 

Example.  And  in  the  smooth  description  ||  murmur  still. 
Long  loved  udored  ideas  i  ||  all  adieu. 

Ohs.  These  examples  have  been  taken  from  verses  in  rhyme ;  be- 
''ause  in  these,  our  versification  is  subjected  to  the  strictest  law.     As 


Blank  Verse,  £79 

blank  verse  is  of  a  freer  kind,  and  is  naturally  read  with  less  cadence 
or  tone,  the  pauses  in  it,  and  the  effect  of  them,  arc  not  always  so  sen- 
sible to  the  ear.  It  is  constructed,  however,  entirely  upon  the  same 
principles,  with  respect  to  the  place  of  the  pause. 

575,  Our  BLANK  VERSE  possesses  great  advantages,  and 
is  indeed  a  noble,  bold,  and  disencumbered  species  of  ver- 
sification. The  principal  defect  in  rhyme,  is  the  full  close 
which  it  forces  upon  the  ear,  at  the  end  of  every  couplet. 
Blank  verse  is  freed  from  this,  and  allows  the  lines  to  run 
into  each  other  with  as  great  liberty  as  the  Latin  hexameter 
permits,  perhaps  with  greater.  Hence  it  is  particularly 
suited  to  subjects  of  dignity  and  force,  which  demand  more 
free  and  manly  numbers  than  rhyme. 

lllus.  The  constraint  and  strict  regularity  of  rhyme,  are  unfavour- 
able to  the  sublime,  or  to  the  highly  pathetic  strain.  An  epic  poem, 
or  a  tragedy,  would  be  fettered  and  degraded  by  it.  It  is  best  adapted 
to  compositions  of  a  temperate  strain,  where  no  particular  vehemence 
is  required  in  the  sentiments,  nor  great  sublimity  in  the  style  ;  such 
as  pastorals,  elegies,  epistles,  satires,  &!-c.  To  these  it  communicates- 
that  degree  of  elevation  which  is  proper  for  them  ;  and  without  any 
other  assistance,  sufficiently  distinguishes  the  style  from  prose.  He 
who  should  write  euch  poems  in  blank  verse,  would  render  his  work 
harsh  and  unpleasing.  In  order  to  support  a  poetical  style,  he  would 
be  obliged  to  affect  a  pomp  of  language,  unsuitable  to  the  subject. 

Scholia  1.  The  present  form  of  our  English  heroic  rhyme  in  coup- 
lets, is  a  modern  species  of  versification.  The  measure  generally  used 
in  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  King  James,  and  King  Charles  I.  was 
the  stanza  of  eight  lines,  such  as  Spenser  employs,  borrowed  from  the 
Italian  ;  a  measure  very  constrained  and  artificial. 

2.  Waller  was  the  first  who  brought  couplets  into  vogue  ;  and  Dry- 
den  afterwards  established  the  usage.  Waller  first  smoothed  our 
verse  ;  Dryden  perfected  it.  Pope's  versification  has  a  peculiar  cha- 
racter. It  is  flowing  and  smooth  in  the  highest  degree  ;  far  more  la- 
boured and  correct  than  that  of  any  who  went  before  him.  He  intro- 
tluced  one  considerable  change  into  heroic  verse,  by  totally  throwing 
aside  the  triplets,  or  three  lines  rhyming  together,  in  which  Dryden 
abounded.  Dryden's  versification,  however,  has  very  great  merit ; 
and,  like  all  his  productions,  has  much  spirit,  mixed  with  carelessness. 
It  is  not  so  smooth  and  correct  as  Pope's,  it  is,  however,  more  varied 
and  easy.  He  subjects  himself  less  to  the  rule  of  closing  the  sense 
with  a  couplet ;  and  frequently  takes  the  liberty  of  making  his  couplets 
run  into  one  another,  with  somewhat  of  the  freedom  of  blank  verse. 
If  any  one,  after  reading  Pope's  Rape  of  the  Lock,  or  Eloisa  to  Abe- 
lard,  shall  not  admit  our  rhyme,  with  all  its  varieties  of  pauses,  to  car- 
ry both  elegance  and  sweetness  of  sound,  his  ear  must  be  pronounced 
to  be  of  a  very  peculiar  kind. 


280  Pastoral  Poetn/, 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF  PASTORAL  POETRY. 

576.  THE  object  of  Pastoral  Poetry  is  to  delight  the  im- 
agination with  descriptions  of  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  of 
human  life  spent  in  the  iviidst  of  these  beauties,  the  persons 
possessing  health,  sensibility,  and  innocence,  and  undisturb- 
ed by  the  anxieties  and  cares  of  business  and  activity. 

Obs.  1.  The  simple  recapitulalion  of  the  principal  objects  of  which 

ich   descriptions  consist,   communicates  pleasing   aud    exhilarHting- 

motions.     Zephyrs  whispering  through  the  trees  and  woods  ;  rivulets 

liding  along  their  mossy  banks  ;  birds  chaunling  their  lively  notes  ; 

liepherds  playing  on  their  rural  pipes  ;  lambkins  skipping  after  their 

ims  ;    and  the  shepherdesses  listening    to  the  enchanting  lays  of 

lieir  amorous  swains. 

2.  The  survey  of  pictures  of  innocence  and  happiness  cannot  fail  to 

he  agreeable,  if  the  reader  can  be  convinced  of  their  reality.     But,  as 

he  finds  such  descriptions  contimially  falsified  by  experience,  the  poet 

artfully  lays  the  scenes  of   his    pastorals  in    remote   places  and  nges, 

nhen,   it  is  supposed,  human  lifp  was  less  corrupted,  and  when  shep- 

rds  and  shepherdesses  retained  more  refined  sentiments,   and  more 

Irvated  rank,  than  persons  of  that  character  in  modern  times.     If  we 

^vish  to  survey  rural  felicity  in  perfection,  we  must  suppose  ourselves 

tiansplanted  into   Sicily  or  Arcadia,  where  the  pastoral  life  appeared 

1  perfection,  and  where  nature  lavished  all  her  stores  to  render  the 

iL'pherd  haj)py. 

577.  It  is  not  sufficient,  however,  that  the  face  of  nature 
be  lively  and  gay,  the  picture,  to  interest,  must  be  animated 
with  sentiment. 

Illus.  The  shepherd  must  discover  anxiety  to  obtain  some  object  of 
iiportance  to  his  happiness,  or  he  must  solace  himself  with  the  pos- 

ssiou  of  it.  He  may  signify  his  regret  for  the  absence  of  a  mistress 
»»r  a  friend  ;  he  may  indulge  in  the  hope  to  recover  their  society  ;  he 
may  sympathise  with  their  misfortunes,  or  rejoice  at  their  prosperity'. 
Btit  no  violent  feeling  must  be  excited  ;  no  deep  distress,  or  pungent 

rrow  must  appear,  which  would  produce  vexation  in  the  mind  of  the 

ader,  because  sucli  a  feeling  would  interfere  with  the  gaiety  and 
[tleasant  emotions  naturally  prompted  by  this  kind  of  composition. 

578.  Attention  also  must  be  bestowed  to  preserve  the 
pastoral  character  both  in  sentiment  and  in  action. 

Ilhcs.  The  shepherds  must  not  appear  too  learned  or  refined  in  their 
notions  ;  neither  must  they  display  rudeness,  cruelty,  or  indecency  in 
their  manners  or  words.     Good  sense,   sensibility,  observation  of  the 

f  liking  beauties  of  nature,  conjoined  with  simplicity  and  iauocencej 

re  the  qualifications  they  must  chiefly  display. 


Pastoral  Poetry.  281 

579.  A  similar  regard  must  be  paid  to  local  character,  and 
national  circumstances. 

Illus.  Tlie  British  swain  must  not  offer  sacrifice  to  Pan,  nor  defend 
his  flock  against  the  lion  and  the  wolf;  he  may,  however,  believe  in 
the  existence  of  invisible  spirits  or  incantations,  or  fortify  his  lambs 
against  the  hound  and  the  fox.  In  a  word,  the  pastoral  poet  may  in- 
dulge in  every  supposition  which  may  render  his  pictures  more  beau- 
tiful, interesting,  or  sentimental  :  but  he  must  not  push  his  demands 
too  far,  nor  shock  the  faith  of  his  reader  ;  he  must  not  ask  him  to  be- 
lieve what  is  inconsistent  or  incredible. 

580.  Theocritus  is  the  most  early  writer  of  pastorals. 
His  works  have  descended  to  posterity,  and  he  has  been  im- 
itated by  all  his  successors,  particularly  by  Virgil. 

Ohs.  1.  Theocritus  was  an  inhabitant  of  Syracuse,  in  Sicily,  about 
tlie  time  of  Alexander  the  Great,  and  he  has  laid  the  scenes  of  all  his 
poems  in  that  delightful  island.  He  paints  nature,  and  delineates  the 
sentiments  and  actions  of  his  shepherds  with  great  address.  Zs'o  pas- 
toral writer  has  been  more  happy  in  striking  the  due  medium  between 
refinement  and  rudeness  ;  and  the  use  he  makes  of  the  Doric  dialect, 
so  admirably  suited  to  the  rusticity  and  simplicity  of  his  characters,  is 
none  of  the  least  marks  of  his  merit. 

2.  Virgil  succeeds  Theocritus  both  in  time  and  merit.  Several  of 
his  pastorals  are  finished  with  good  taste,  simplicity,  and  propriety. 
]Vo  writer  excels  him  in  painting  delicate  sentiment,  for  which  this 
kind  of  composition  affords  frequent  opportunity. 

Example  1.  Nothing  can  be  more  simpie  and  natural  than  the  fol- 
lowing lines  : 

"  Tityre,  dum  retleo,  brevis  est  via,  pasce  capellas : 
Et  potum  pastas  age,  Titjx'e  ;  et  inter  apfriidum 
Occursare  capro,  cornu  ferit  ille,  caveto." 

Example  3.  Again  : 

"  Hie  p^elidi  fontes  :  hie  mollia  prata.  Lycori  t 

Hie  litmus;  hie  ipso  tecum  coiisumerer  aevo." 
"  Parta  meae  veneri  sunt  muncra  ;  nanique  iiotayi 

Ipse  loeum,  a'eriw  quo  congessere  palumbes." 

Example  S.  The  two  last  lines  are  beautifully  translated  and  im- 
proved  by  Shenstone  : 

"  I  have  found  out  a  gift  for  my  fair, 
I  have  found  wh»rre  she  wood-p;;ieoris  breed: 
But  let  me  tiit  phuider  forbear. 
She  will  say 'twas  a  barbarous  deed." 

Obs.  3.  Not  above  the  half,  however,  of  ten  eclogues,  which  Virgi! 
has  left,  can  properly  be  said  to  deserve  the  name  of  pastoral.  Seve- 
ral of  them,  particularly  the  hrst  and  ninch,  have  little  of  that  charac- 
ter. The  third,  fifth,  seventh,  and  eighth  only,  can  be  said  to  belong- 
stnctly  to  this  species  of  poetry  ;  and  though  even  in  them  the  senti- 
ments are  sometimes  too  refined,  yet  they  are  never  quaint  or  affected. 

4.  Pope  has  imitated,  and  almost  translated,  Thegcritus  and  Virgil'. 
His  pasior-ilK,  accordingly,  have  little  merit,  but  that  of  the  versifica- 
tion. He  has  scarc*^;!/  veii-irod  *o  advance  a  single  se  siiment,  of 
which  he  had  not  received  a  hln.  from  the  Sicilian  or  Roman  poeL 
The  subsequent  examples  will  illustrate  this  remark. 


252  Pcistoral  Pozinj, 

Example  1.  Virgil,  with  much  simplicity,  expresses  a  beautiful  sen* 
tiiiient  in  the  following-  lines  : 

•'  Malo  me  Galatea  petit,  lasciva  puella, 
Et  fugit  ad  salices.  et  se  cupit  ante  videri." 

Example  2.  Pope  diminishes  the  effect  of  this  thought,  by  adding  to 
it  an  air  of  prettiness  and  conceit 

"  The  sprightly  Sylvia  trips  along  the  green, 
She  runs,  but  hopes  she  does  not  run  unseen, 
While  a  kind  glance  at  her  pursuer  flies, 
How  much  at  variance  are  her  feet  and  eyes !" 

Scholium.  Pope  wrote  his  pastoials  when  very  young,  which  Fur- 
nishes a  good  apology  for  their  defects. 

581.  Among  all  the  various  poets,  ancient  or  modern, 
who  have  attempted  pastorals,  Shenstone  is  entitled  to  the 
greatest  prai.se.  Neither  Theocntus  nor  Virgil  is,  perhaps, 
to  be  compared  with  him,  in  ctmibining  the  capital  requisites 
of  this  kind  of  writing  ;  for  no  author  in  this  H!ie  has  intro- 
duced with  more  success  whatever  is  simple,  tender,  and 
delicate. 

Obs.  Even  Shenstone's  own  works  in  this  line  are  not  equally  merito- 
rious. He  degenerates  sometimes  into  fiatoess  and  insipidity;  but  no 
language  can  furnish  a  performance  of  its  kind  superior  to  his  pasto- 
ral ballad,  in  four  parts,  on  Absence,  Hope,  Solitude,  and  Disappoint- 
)ncnt.  No  quaintness,  no  affectation,  no  false  refmement,  no  indelica- 
\  ;  all  is  nature,  innocence,  and  elegance.  The  whole  poem  de- 
rrves  high  praise  :  as  a  short  specimen,  we  shall  present  the  follow- 
ing lines,  from  the  part  denominated  Hope. 

"  One  would  think  she  mi -in  lil:«  to  w-lvr 
To  Um*  Njwt'r  I  had  I  : ' 
Not  a  shrub  that  I  li<  ;t 
Kut  I  hasted  and  plan; 

>h  !  how  sudden  the  jessamine  strove 
X'^'ith  the  lilac,  to  remler  it  gay  ; 

'  ' '     it  calls  for  my  love, 

th«  wild  branches  away. 

'  "iJid  out  a  irift  for  my  fair, 

and  where  the  wood-pigeons  breed; 
!  i.u-  the  plunder  forbear, 
^  ill  say  'twas  a  liarbarous  detd  : 
Tor  he  ui'Vr  could  be  true,  she  averr'd, 
Wlio  could  rob  a  poor  bin!  of  its  yoiuig ; 
And  I  lovM  her  the  more  m  hen  1  heard 
Such  tenderness  fall  fro.n  her  tongue.*' 

582.  The  favourable  reception  which  pastoral  poetry  has 
obtained  from  all  polished  nations,  and  the  picture  it  is  sup- 
posed to  exhibit  of  the  happy  but  fabulous  times  of  the  gold- 
en age,  have  prompted  some  eminent  authors  to  attempt  to 
improve  it.  They  have  retained  the  pastoral  characters, 
occupations,  and  manners,  and  to  these  have  added  import- 
ance and  interest,  by  mouldin*  them  into  a  beautiful  and 
picturesque  sentimental  comedy.    As  a  farther  enhance- 


Fasloral  Podry,  -16.^ 

tnent  of  its  merit,  th^jhave  made  music  contribute  liberal- 
ij  to  adorn  it,  and  have  introduced  a  number  of  tender  cha- 
racteristic  songs,  in  which  the  shepherds  and  sheplierdessc? 
signify  to  one  another  their  hopes  and  wishes,  accompanied 
with  correspondent  airs  of  melody. 

Obs,  1.  Few  entertainments  can  present  an  assemblage  of  so  many 
captivating  objects,  beautiful  pictures  of  nn.ture  ;  tiie  charms  of  music^, 
which  touch  the  heart;  characters  pleased,  cheerful,  and  happy,  en- 
gaged in  those  simple  cares  and  attachments,  which  occupy  human 
life,  without  fatiguing  it;  and  which,  being  dictated  by  innocence  and 
restrained  by  virtue,  gently  agitate,  without  distracting  (be  mind.  At- 
tempts of  merit  of  this  sort  have  accordingly  been  honoured  with  the 
,  warmest  approbation. 

2.  Italy  furnishes  two  eminent  specimens,  which  all  Europe  has  read 
and  admired.  The  Amynta  of  Tasso,  and  Pastor  Fido  of  Guarini. 
Both  display  vivid  pictures  of  nature,  and  of  rural  manners.  The  fables 
are  interesting,  and  happily  conducted  ;  the  characters  are  Ihrown 
into  many  delicate  and  tender  situations.  Many  of  ;lie  scenes  are 
beautiful,  and  wrought  up  with  so  much  sensibility,  that  the  reader 
receives  a  very  exquisite  amusement. 

583.  The  Gentle  Shepherd,  a  Scottish  pastoral  comedj, 
of  Allan  Ramsay,  is  admired  by  exeiy  reader  of  taste  and 
genius.  The  author  has  exerted  much  pains  to  avoid  the 
reprehensible  qualities  of  his  two  rivals,  and  every  candid 
critic  must  allow  that  he  has  been  successful. 

Obs.  1.  That  he  might  suggest  an  apology  for  the  greater  liberality 
of  sentiment  which  he  has  v^entuved  to  throw  into  the  characters  of 
his  principal  shepherd  and  sliepherdess,  he  has  supposed  them  io  in- 
herit a  genius  superior  to  their  station,  communicated  from  their  pa- 
rents, who  possessed  a  more  elevated  rank,  but  who,  from  political 
misfortunes,  were  obliged  to  permit  tfceir  children  to  be  educated  io 
concealment  and  obscurity. 

2.  In  every  other  view,  his  pastoral  is  entitled  to  much  praise.  The 
€able  is  well  conceived,  naturally  and  regularly  conducted.  The  cha- 
racters are  distinctly  marked  ;  they  are  numerous,  and  properlv  varied. 
Their  occupations,  sentiments,  manners,  are  all  the  most  picturesquej 
local,  and  characteristic,  that  can  be  supposed.  Simplicity,  innocence, 
cheerfulness,  rustic  sports  and  merriment,  rude  prejudices,  ophiions, 
and  fears,  are  beautifully  and  pertinently  interspersed.  The  situations 
of  the  principal  characters  are  delicate  and  inferesting,  and  deeplv 
engage  the  attention  of  the  reader.  The  great  change  of  fortune,  and 
the  consequent  happiness  they  enjoy  from  the  accidental  discovery  of 
their  birth  and  opulence  in  the  course  of  the  action,  terminate  the  prii 
formance,  by  suggesting  the  most  pleasing  and  satisfactory  franje  of 
mind,  the  reader  cotild  wish  to  possess.  The  music  is  national,  fen- 
der, simple,  afid  the  diction  rs  perfectly  suited  to  the  characteis.  It  m 
finished  in  the  true  Doric  taste,  soft  and  expressive,  neither  too  refin- 
ed, nor  too  gross  and  unpolished. 

3.  Dr.  Blair  was  the  first  who  prejudiced  the  public  taste  against  the 
Gentle  Shepherd.  Barron  has  followed  him  in  this,  as,  indeed,  in  al- 
most every  other  thing  the  doctor  said.     But  let  it  be  observed,  thai 

25 


2S4  Lyric  Poetry. 

the  Gentle  Shepherd  is  a.  nrflional  pastoral ;  the  locality  of  I(s  rnanner? 
and  language,  make  it  such  ^  thev  constitute  its  chief  in p.redients  of 
national  merit ;  they  increase  its  inierest  hy  circuinrcnb.ng  its  repu- 
ition  among  the  people  for  whom  it  v  as  writ  ten.  '<  Fail  its  manuer» 
;eeii  general,  its  language  pure  English,  aad  its  scenes  Arcadian,  it 
would  iiave  had  less  characteristic  beanty,  b»it  it  nii'^ht  have  riierited 
the  ipplause  of  Europ<*.*"  Indeed  1  There  are  hills  and  dales,  woods 
ar  i  streams,  and  sentient  natures,  in  Britain  ;  and  Arcadia  could 
boj  St  no  more.  At  ail  events.  tl>ere  is  one  national  pastoral  In  the 
world  ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  glory  of  this  species  of  poetry  hath  not 
I'en  wiih  th«;  genius  of  Greece. 

584.  Of  all  the  moderns,  M.  Gessner,  a  poet  of  Switzer- 
land, has  been  the  most  successful  in  his  pastoral  composi- 
tions. He  has  introduced  into  his  Idylls  (as  he  entitles 
ihem)  many  new  ideas.  His  rural  scenery  is  often  striking, 
and  his  descriptions  are  lively. 

Ohs.  He  presents  pastoral  life  to  us,  with  all  the  embellishments  of 
which  it  is  susceptible  ;  but  without  any  excess  of  refinement.  What 
tbims  the  chief  merit  of  this  poet,  is,  that  he  writes  to  the  heart  ;  and' 
lie  has  enriched  the  subject  of  his  Idylls  witli  int  idents  which  give 
i  e  to  nun  h  tender  sentiment.  Scenes  of  douiestic  felicity  are  beautt- 
illy  painted.  The  mutual  affection  of  husbands  and  wives,  of  parents 
iind  children,  of  brothers  and  sisters,  as  well  as  of  lovers,  are  displajr- 
td  in  a  pleasing  and  touching  manner. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LYRIC  POETKY. 


o8j.  lyric  poetry,  to  which  we  now  proceed,  inclu- 
ded, in  ancient  times,  every  poetical  composition  accompa- 
liied  with  music,  whether  of  the  voice  or  of  instilments. 

Ubii.  i.  It  was  called  lyric,  from  the  lyre,  with  which  it  was  com- 
monly attended  ;  and  it  acquired  the  name  of  ode,  because  it  was  also 
designed  to  b»»  sung.    It  is  a  short,  occasional,  animated  effort  of  genius. 

2.  The  author  may  assume  any  tone  he  chooses  ;  he  may  be  sub- 
Iin>e,  familiar,  gay,  serious,  passionate,  moral,  tender,  or  witty,  with 
equal  propriety,  and  he  may  even  intermix  several  of  these  strains  in 
the  same  poem. 

3.  Panegyric,  however,  is  the  principal  field  it  has  occupied  in  all 
a«-t5  ;  for  the  praises  of  the  gods,  and  of  heroes,  have  furni^-hcd  more 
odes  than  nil  other  subjects  put  together. 

Example  1.  The  Psalms  of  David  were  lyric  productions,  and  were 
sung  in  the  celebration  of  the  Jewish  worship. 

2.  The  Odes  of  Pindar  were  composed  in  praise  of  the  gods,  or  he- 
roes, or  victors  in  the  games  of  Greece. 

3.  ?ome  of  those  of  Horace  are  dedicated  to  the  honour  of  the  godi, 
others  form  elegant  complimentary  addresses  to  his  country,  to  emi- 
nent individuals,  or  to  friends. 

•  Blair. 


Lyric  Fodry* 

IStht.  Modern  times  have  not  been  so  prolific  in  this  species  of  oom 
position,   as  those   of  antiquity  ;    they  are   not,  however,  destitute  of 
some  very  conspicuous  specimens. 

586.  Lyric  poetry  is  susceptible  of  different  ornaments, 
suitable  to  the  nature  of  the  subjects  it  treats.  It  admits 
sometimes  the  boldest  and  warmest  figures  of  imagination 
and  passion  ;  at  other  times,  it  delights  in  the  playful  and 
pleasant  images  of  fancy  and  feeling.  Sometimes  the  ex- 
pression is  ardent,  concise,  and  vehement ;  at  other  times, 
it  is  simple  and  diff*use  ;  but  at  all  times,  it  must  be  pure, 
picturesque,  and  correct. 

Ohs.  1.  The  style  should  be  more  fmished,  perhaps,  than  that  of  any 
other  species  of  poetry  ;  for  the  attention  of  the  reader  is  neither  pow- 
erfully nor  long  diverted  by  the  sentiment.  He  soon  turns  it  toward 
the  expression  ;  and  he  is  so  scrupulous,  that  he  will  not  excuse  the 
slightest  impropriety.  The  capital  characteristics  of  the  ode,  then,  are 
magnificence,  or  passion  or  ingenuity  in  the  thought,  and  perfect  ele- 
gance in  the  style. 

2.  Greece  has  left  seme  conspicuous  monuments  of  lyric  composi- 
tion, in  the  odes  of  Pindar,  Sappho,  and  Anacreon  ;  the  first  remark 
able  for  vehemence  and  sublimity  ;  tlie  two  last  for  sensibility,  plea- 
santry, and  vivacity. 

3.  Horace  is  the  only  Roman  poet  of  the  lyric  tribe  whose  works 
have  descended  to  modern  times  ;  and,  it  seems,  we  have  little  reason 
to  regret  the  loss  of  the  rest,  for,  if  we  may  rely  on  the  opinion  of 
Quinctilian,  Horace  alone  merited  immortality. 

587.  No  modern  poets  have  composed  volumes  of  odes 
like  Pindar  and  Horace,  but  many  of  them  have  occasional- 
ly attempted  this  species  of  composition.  The  chief  of  these 
in  English  are  Dryden,  Pope,  Addison,  Gray,  and  Akenside. 

Obs.  1.  The  first  three  are  distinguished  by  their  odes  to  St.  Cecilia, 
in  praise  of  the  powers  of  music  ;  the  subjects  of  the  last  two  are  mis- 
cellaneous. As  the  first  three  have  attempted  successively  to  adorn  the 
same  theme,  it  affoids  a  good  opportunity  of  comparing  their  merits. 

2.  Alexanders  Feast,  by  Dryden,  has  gained  universal  fame,  and  it 
seems  to  deserve  all  the  reputation  it  has  attained.  It  is  difficult  to 
decide  whether  the  sentiments  or  the  composition  merit  the  most 
praise.  The  sentiments  are  admirably  suited  to  the  personages  whom 
they  describe,  and  the  composition  is  fitted  with  equal  propriety  to  the 
sentiments.  The  sentiments  are  artfully  contrasted,  a  circumstance 
which,  added  to  tlreir  natural  excellence,  displays  them  in  the  moi^^t 
captivating  light. 

3.  A  train  of  grand  and  sublime  thoughts  is  succeeded  by  a  series  of 
gay  and  pleasant  ones  ;  a  set  of  outrageous  and  furious  conceptions,  is 
contrasted  with  a  group  ol  gentle  and  tender  ones.  Tiie  ;  oet  shakes 
the  spheres  with  Jupiter,  revels  with  Bacchus,  raves  and  d4troys  with 
Ihe  furies,  and  drops  a  tear  with  his  hero  over  the  misfortunes  of  Da- 
iius. 

4.  Pope  has  attempted,  in  his  ode  in  honour  of  St.  Cecilia,  the  in- 
lentress  of  the  organ,  to  introduce  dii|erent  passions,  awd  to  controls. 


Didactic  Pottvy, 

ih  tijc  senhmcnts  and  the  versification,  as  had  been  done  by  Prycfei?, 
Jij  has  very  happily  selected  for  his  subject  the  fable  of  Orpheus  and 
rlurydicc,  a  story  naturally  tender  and  pathetic,  of  which  the  reverse 
of  fortune-is  great,  and  the  dificrent  i>arts  are  strongly  opposed. 

5.  Addison  was  fond  of  the  fame  of  a  poet,  though  he  enjoyed  not 
t'  best  powers  for  acquiring  it.     He  wished,  it  is  said,  \o  rival  Pope 

-  a  translator  of  Homer  ;  he  even  wished  to  rival  him  in  lyric  merit, 
it  ventured  to  appear  on  the  same  ground  which  Pope  and  Dryden 
!(i  occupied  with  go  much  lustre;  and  his  ode  to  St.  Cecilia  exhibit- 
ed him  in  a  contrast  which  could  not  fail  to  hurt  his  reputation  ;  for  of 
all  the  poetry  which  Addison   has  written,   he  has  scarcely  composed 
liiy  thing  so  indifferent  as  this  ode. 

6.  Tho  odes  of  Gray  are  entitled  to  high  praise,  though  they  are  un- 
inal  in  their  merit,  which  is  also  the  fate  of  different  stanzas  of  the 

>anie  ode.  His  sentiments  are  conceived  with  great  vigour  and  pro- 
priety, and  his  versification  is  the  most  laboured,  perhaps,  in  the  Eng- 
'ish  language.     He  frequently  attempts  the  Pindaric  magnificence  and 

'biimity,  and  he  never  fails  to  appropriate  some  of  its  darkness  and 

-scurity. 

7.  Ak«*nside  aims  at  ease,  ingenuity,  and  elegance,  and  he  is  not  un- 
K'cesoful.  His  imagination  is  delicate  and  picturesque,  his  versifica- 
m  is  smooth  and  melodious.     He  is   not  defective  in  sentiment,  and 

ornament  l>c  has  a  claim  to  high  applause. 


CHAPTER  V. 


DIDACTIC  rOETRY. 


j88.  didactic  poetry  discusses  some  branch  of  useful 
'  ience,  sciiie  beiielicial  art,  or  some  system  of  prudential  or 
Moral  conduct,  by  which  the  reader  may  improve  his  know- 
ledge, his  wisdom,  or  his  virtue  ;  and  it  recommends  the 
discussion  by  all  the  nierits  of  imagination,  and  all  the 
charms  ol' poetical  composition. 

Uhis.  1.  In  executing  ihe  useful  part  of  the  task,  it  collects  all  the 
'St  theories  and   most  approved  practices,   and  arranges  them,  with 
J  reasons  of  them,  in  that  distinct  and  lucid  order  in  which  they  are 
ost  likely  to  make  the   deepest  impression.     It  sometimes  adds  the 
lost  sagacious  reflections,  pleasant  speculations,  or  important  disco- 
'  I  lies,   which  have  resulted  from  the  research  or  the  ingenuity  of  the 
Uhor.     It  condescejuls  also  to  recapitulate  and  expose  vulgar  or  ir- 
xitional  principles   and   practices;    which    have    derived  their  origin 
from  a  necessity,  perhaps,  that  no  longer  exists,  or  which  remain  fos- 
tered and  cherished  by  prejudice  or  by  ignorance. 

2.  In  executing  the  ornamental  parts,  it  illustrates  every  theory  and 
practice  with  simplicity  and  vivacity  ;  but  that  the  familiarity  or  the 
lowliness  of  the  topics  of  which  it  must  sometimes  treat,  may  not  of- 
r^nd  t!ie  nicest  reader,  it  is  extremely  solicitous  to  add  dignity  to  the 
illustration  by  the  use   of  ficurati^e  7\x\r\   descriptive  pbraseQlo'/y      U 


nidadlc  Poetry,  !2B7 

idorn  calls  common  obj« .  (^  oy  their  proper  names.  It  employs  elo- 
v;ited  and  metaphorical  appcliittions,  or  It  describes  them  by  their 
causes  or  their  etTects.  It  bestows  much  attention  to  cnlivt^n  its  de- 
scriptions and  scenes,  by  throwing  into  them  all  the  animation  with 
whicii  they  are  any  way  connected.  Many  of  tlse  inanimate  objects 
are  personified  ;  all  the  irrational  animals  are  endued  with  character, 
sentiment,  and  design  ;  the  human  actors  are  rendered  respectable  by 
the  activity  and  virtue  of  their  lives,  the  sagacity  of  their  judgments, 
the  utility  of  their  occupations  ;  or  they  are  held  up  as  objects  of  aver- 
sion, that  the  reader  may  learn,  from  their  foily,  absurdity  or  crimin- 
ality, to  avoid  that  conduct  which  has  rendered  them  ridiculous,  odious, 
or  unhappy, 

3.  But  the  great  ornaments  of  didactic  poetry  are  beautiful  or  inter- 
estiiig  episodes.  To  vary  and  adorn  his  subject,  the  author  is  allowed 
iVequently  to  shift  the  scene,  and  to  introduce  any  moral,  philosophi- 
i'ul,  or  stutinlcntal  relation  or  discussion  with  which  it  is  connected. 

So  other  .species  of  poetry  admits  so  much  latitude  in  this  article.  If 
tie  episodes  are  properly  varied  in  length,  and  if  they  are  not  very  vio- 
lently forced  into  his  service,  the  author  will  not  incur  much  reprehen- 
sion, though  he  often  depart  from  his  principal  subject,  and  thougli 
the  sum  of  the  episodes,  taken  together,  even  exceed  in  extent  the  di- 
dactic part  of  the  poem 

4.  Through  the  whole  of  his  poem,  the  author  may  display  much 
knowledge  of  the  particular  sul#ject  he  treats,  and  of  many  other  use- 
ful and  ornamental  sciences  and  arts  ;  much  acquaintance  with  naUue, 
society,  manners,  and  the  human  heart.  He  may  be  grave,  gay,  sub- 
lime, easy,  austere,  pathetic,  as  shall  best  suit  his  genius  and  his  rnat- 
t-er.  Tlie  versification  must  be  always  correct  and  melodious  ;  and  it 
may  be  elevated  occasionally  to  a  high  degree  of  energy  and  dignity. 
It  is  also  susceptible  of  every  ornament,  addressed  to  tlie  imagination 
or  the  passions,  of  which  the  difi"erent  topics  or  episodes  admit.  P^iet- 
aphors,  comparisons,  personifications,  apostrophes,  may  all  be  in.iden- 
tally  introduced  ;  and  if  they  are  pertinently  applied,  their  appearance 
will  add  grace  and  interest  to  the  composition. 

Sciiolla  1.  When  this  species  of  poetry  promises  so  much  improve- 
iuent  and  entertainment  to  the  reader,  and  when  the  author  possccses 
so  many  favourable  opportui^liies  of  displaying  his  knowle<\;:~^\  his 
genius,  and  his  taste,  we  will  not  be  surprised  that  it  has  been  attciript- 
ed  by  poets  of  high  fame  in  ditferent  ages,  Aratus  discussed  in  Greek 
the  phenomena  of  the  heavens,  and  Lucretius  in  Latin  the  philosophy 
of  Epicurus.  Virgil  has  treated  the  whole  theory  and  practice  of  ag- 
riculture, and  iVrmstrong  the  art  of  preserving  health.  The  writers  on 
morals  and  manners  are  mostly  satirical  ;  yet  Pope  has  avoided  satir- 
ism  in  his  elegant  system  of  morals  in  the  Essay  on  Man,  The  rapital 
satirists,  ancient  and  modern,  are  Horace,  Juvenal,  Pope,  and  Young. 

2.  Armstrong  possessed  a  large  portion  of  the  genius  of  Virgil,  and, 
like  him,  has  adorned  the  history  of  he*ilth,  a  su>»ject  naturally  un- 
promising, w'Ah  ail  the  embellishment  of  fine  versification  and  elegant 
fancy.  He  elevates  and  beautifies  every  precept,  and  he  is  fortunate 
in  episodes.  The  true  spirit  of  poetry  is  conspicuous  in  all  he  writes, 
and  his  compositions  cannot  be  perused  without  instruction  and  plea- 
sure. He  appears  to  be  one  of  the  best  didactic  poets  in  the  English 
language,  and  not  inferior  to  any  ancient  author  in  the  same  line,  ex- 
cept VirgH, 

25* 


288  Didactic  Podry. 

3.  The  Essay  on  Man  admitted  fewer  erabfllishments  and  eprsotfo 
than  the  poems  which  we  have  mentioned.  The  author's  design  wa* 
more  serious  than  that  of  any  other  writer  of  his  class.  Instruction 
was  his  main  object,  and  no  ornaments  are  introduced  but  what  are 
manifestly  subservient  to  this  end.  He  employs  metaphors  frequent- 
ly, and  sometimes  comparisons,  but  they  are  never  mere  addresses  to 
the  i^wQy  of  tlie  reailer,  they  always  contribute  to  illustrate  and  im- 
press the  matter. 

4.  This  famous  essay  is  literally  a  system  of  morals,  founded  on  the 
celebrated  doctrine  tirst  broached  by  Plato,  and  afterwards  explained 
and  recommended  by  Leibnitz  and  Lord  Shaftsbury,  that  no  evil  is 
admitted  into  the  system  of  nature  but  what  is  inseparable  from  its  ex- 
istence ;  and  that  all  possible  provision  is  made  for  the  happiness  of 
every  creature  it  coiitains.  The  author  acknowledges  that  the  gravity 
of  his  subject  was  more  adapted  to  a  discussion  in  prose,  than  a  trea- 
tise in  verse,  but  that  he  preferred  the  latter,  because  it  was  more 
adapted  to  his  genius,  and  was  more  likely  to  engage  the  attention  and 
recollection  of  the  reader. 

5.  The  discussion  is  ingcnioirs  and  instructive  We,  however,  de- 
siderate that  distinct  an<l  lucid  arrangement  whk.j  we  discern  in  the 
productions  of  tlie  other  two  emiii'ent  moderns.  Neither  has  the  ver« 
.sifi(  ation  all  the  merits  which  shine  in  his  other  works  ;  it  is  frequent- 
ly abrupt,  if  not  obscure,  and  possesses  not  the  melody  and  flow  of  his 
other  poetry.  The  abstract  nature  of  the  subject,  perhaps,  and  his 
sincere  desire  to  instruct,  rather  than  to  please,  may  furnish  an  apol- 

589.  Satirists  are  a  species  of  negative  didactic  poets, 
who  teach  and  amuse  by  censuring  what  is  wrong,  and  ex- 
posing what  is  foolish.  They  seldom  attempt  to  inculcate 
positively  what  is  gooii,  or  to  recommenil  what  is  decent  ; 
they  leave  tiiis  task  to  moralists  and  public  instructor?. 
They  would  be  most  reputable  and  useful  writers,  were 
iliey  successful  in  what  they  undertake,  to  banish  iniquity 
and  folly  from  society.     They  are  divided  into  two  classes. 

Uin^.  I.  One  class  attacks  immorality  and  impropriety  with  a  stern 
ok  and  severe  reprehension.     It  paints  them   in  ail   their  detormity 

<  objects  of  aversion,  and  it  fails  not  to  inflict  upon  them  that  censure 
"  hich  they  drserve.     ft  allows  few  of  those  excuses  and  alleviations 

liich  are  usually  urged  for  the  errors  of  men.  It  <lelineates  them  as 
(iud  as  they  really  are.  and  is  sometimes  inclined  rather  to  exaggerate 
fhan  to  apologise.  It  wishes  to  deter  mankind  from  vicious  or  foolish 
actions  or  sei  timents,  by  the  odium,  the  misery,  the  disapprobation 
•  hich  attend  them. 

2.  The  other  class  assaults  vice  and  folly  with  ridicule.  It  exposes 
the  whims,  the  oddities,  the  absurdities,  and  the  crimes  of  men,  in  fucb 
a  manner  as  to  make  them  ashamed.  But  if  ridicule  does  not  succeed, 
it  relinquishes  them  as  incorrigible.     An  author  of  this  class  is  never 

ngry,  he  is  never  even  serious.     When  a  crime  should  rouse  the  re- 

ontment  of  the  former  class,  and  draw  from  them  severe  chastise- 
ment, they  remain  unmoved,  and  smile  at  the  culprit  as  a  fool.  Hor- 
Jice  altogether,  and  Pope  in  some  measure,  are  satirists  of  the  lattei? 

^ass  )  Juvenal  and  Young  belong  to  the  former. 


Didactic  Poetry:  .  £89 

3.  Horace  was  an  epicurean  in  philosophy,  and,  according  to  the 
principles  of  that  indolent  sect,  seems  to  liuve  adopted  a  rule  of  con- 
duct, that  nothing  should  ruffle  his  temper.  He  appears  to  have  con- 
sidered the  vices  of  his  countrymen  as  not  deserving-  his  resentment; 
or  to  have  been  of  opinion  that  reprehension  was  not  the  way  to  re- 
form them.  He  accordingly  never  discomposes  himself  when  he  men- 
tions them. 

4.  Juvenal  is  a  grave,  severe  satirist,  and  a  stern  censor  of  the  errors 
and  follies  of  mankind.  He  never  condescends  to  smile,  or  to  insinu- 
ate improprieties  without  reprehending  them.  He  seems  to  consider 
ceremony  and  politeness  as  quarks  of  insincerity,  and  as  trifling  with 
the  evil,  instead  of  attempting  a  radical  cure.  He  seldom  takes  no- 
tice of  folly,  but,  when  he  does,  he  touches  her  airy  and  volatile  form 
with  a  firm  and  rough  hand.  He  thinks  her  deserving  of  more  serious 
treatment  than  to  laugh  at  her,  because  she  may  be  either  the  compan- 
ion or  the  parent  of  iniquity.  He  displays,  at  the  same  time,  much 
good  sense,  much  knowledge  of  the  Vr-orld,  and  a  great  share  of  the 
faculty  of  imagination, 

6.  Pope  attempts  to  unite  the  good  humour  of  Horace  with  the 
gravity  of  Juvenal,  but  he  leans  more  to  the  manner  of  the  latter,  than 
to  that  of  the  former.  He  was  naturally  of  a  keen  temper,  and 
particularly  irritable  by  reflections  which  glanced  either  at  his  private 
character  or  his  fame.  Many  of  his  satirical  writings  were  prompted 
by  this  spirit  ;  and  we  regret  that  a  man  of  his  genius  should  have 
wasted  his  time,  and  disturbed  his  repose,  by  retaliatiYig  on  critics  ani- 
mated by  a  degree  of  ignorance  or  folly  which  rendered  them  con- 
temptible. 

6.  Young  has  much  merit  as  a  satirist.  He  is  not  so  severe  as  Ju- 
venal, though  he  is  always  in  earnest,  and  never  attempts  to  excite  a 
laugh.  He  appears  as  a  sincere  moralist,  zealous  to  correct  the  vices 
and  follies  of  mankind,  by  holding  up  pictures  to  excite  their  reflection 
on  the  impropriety  of  their  errors.  His  Love  of  Fame  displays  much 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  no  small  merit  in  point  of  versifica- 
tion. He  is  a  satirist  whom  we  love  and  respect,  because  we  conceive 
him  to  be  actuated  by  good  nature,  and  backward  to  reprehend,  were 
it  possible  to  reform  by  more  gentle  means.  He  possesses  neither  the 
sprightliness  of  Horace,  nor  the  vehemence  of  Juvenal,  but  he  is  more 
dignified  than  the  former,  and  more  amiable  than  the  latter.  He  is 
not  so  facetious  and  pleasant  as  Horace,  but  neither  is  he  so  sour  and 
forbidding  as  Juvenal.  Horace  seems  to  have  consulted  his  own 
amusement,  and  Juvenal  the  gratification  of  his  spleen,  as  mwch  as 
the  entertainment  or  emolument  of  their  readers.  Young  writes  ta 
improve  mankind,  and,  with  the  regard  and  affection  of  a  parent, 
chastises  only  that  he  may  amend.  Though  we  wish  he  had  more 
mirth,  yet  we  respect  him  as  an  useful  author,  and  a  genuine  friend  oi' 
virtue. 


'^90  Descriplive  Poetry. 


CHAPTER  YL 

DESCKIPTIVE  POETIIY. 

o90.  DESCRIPTIVE  poetry  is  addressed  chieily  to  the 
imagination,  though  it  attempts  also  to  convey  many  useful 
impressions  to  the  understanding  and  the  heart. 

Obs.  The  design  of  it  is  to  exhibit  beautiful  pictures  of  nature  or  ait, 
"  as  to  coniinunicate  all  the  informrition  and  pleasure  which  theread- 
i"  could  receive  from  an  actual  survey  of  the  oljects.  Jt  ijonieiimes 
resents  large  collections  of  objects,  as  those  which  occur  in  one  period 
f  the  year,  or  those  which  readily  present  themselves  n  hen  the  mind  is 
in  a  particular  frame,  lively  and  gay,  or  disconsolate  and  dejected. 

Illus.  1.  Of  the  former  kind  are  the  Seasons  of  Thomson;  of  the 
latter  kind  are  the  Allegro  and  Penseioso  of  Mihon.  £ut  the  -rreatcr 
})art  of  descriptive  poetry  is  intermixed  with  other  kinds  of  poetical 
(jomposition  ;  and  there  is  no  kind,  whether  epic,  dramatic,^Udactic, 
pastoral,  or  lyric,  that  does  not  occasionally  demand  its  as-sistance. 

2.  Though  all  poets  attempt  to  describe,  and  all  men  are  endowed 
ijore  or  less  with  the  power  of  forming  pictures  of  what  they  have 
(en  or  imagined,  yet  the  faculty  which  produces  good  descrij)tion  is 
xtremely  rare  ;  it  requires  an  uncommon  portion  of  vivacity  and 
igour  of  imagination,  and  a  large  share  of  judgment.  The  former 
iiggests  the  circumstances  which  the  picture  demands,  and  the  latter 
elects  those  which  arc  best  calculated  for  making  the  deepest  impres- 
ion. 

591.  In  description,  the  great  art  seems  to  be,  not  to  spe- 
cify every  minute  particular,  but  to  select  the  most  striking 
and  picturestjue  circumstances,  which  would  naturally  make 
the  deepest  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  beholder. 

r.xample.  Tlie  following  quotation  will  best  illustrate  this  rule.  It 
is  a  picture,  by  Thomson,  of  an  infections  distemper,  which  ho])pened 
to  the  fleet  in  the  memorable  cxpeditiou  against  Carthagena. 

*' You,  gallant  Vernon,  saw 

The  mi-ktrablc  scene.     You  pitying  saw 
To  infant  weakness  sunk  the  warrior's  arm : 
Saw  the  deep-racking  panp,  the  ghastly  form, 
The  pale  lip  qiiiveriiig.  and  the  beamK  ss  eve 
No  more  w  ith  aitlour  bright !     You  hcai*d  the  groans 
Of  aq^onising  ships  from  shore  to  shore! 
Heard  nightly  plung'd  amid  the  sullen  wave 
Thefn  quent  corse  ;  while  on  each  other  fix'd 
In  sad  presage,  the  blank  assistants  seem'd 
Silent,  to  ask  whom  fate  would  next  demand ."' 

JInalysis.  It  is  un'.Kccsi^ary  to  offer  any  comment  on  this  beautiful 
description  ',  every  readrr  must  feel  its  force.  The  frequent  plun.'^ing' 
of  the  corse  in  the  siiMen  wave  during  the  night,  is  particulurly  stri- 
king, and  marks  strongly  the  havoc  jf  the  infection. 

Obs.  1.  Almost  the  vvhcle  merit  of  Thomson's  genius  consioted  in 
description.    He  possessed  little  influence  over  the  stronger  passions, 


Descriptive  Poetr^y,  ^Q 1 

though  some  episodes  in  the  Seasons,  and  scenes  in  his  plays,  discover 
a  capacity  for  managing  a  tender  and  moderate  passion.  His  plays 
are  elegant  and  correct  compositions;  they  contain  many  noble  and 
virtuous  sentiments,  but  they  are  sparing  of  incidents,  and  they 
abound  with  declamation. 

2.  Had  Milton  studied  nature  with  as  much  attention  as  Thomson, 
he  would  probably  have  excelled  all  poets  in  the  liveliness  and  beauty 
of  his  descriptions.  All  his  works  shine  with  the  richness  of  his  ima- 
gination. He  is  uncommonly  happy  in  the  selection  of  the  most  per- 
tinent circumstances,  and  in  the  use  of  the  most  significant  figures, 
particularly  metaphors,  which  demonstrate  the  exquisite  sensibility  of 
his  fancy. 

3.  He  seems,   however,  to   have  taken  a  general  survey  of  nature, 
.  rather  than  to    have  attended  minutely  to   her  particular  operations. 

He  never  dwells  long  on  a  topic  in  description,  and  he  rather  glances 
at  it  than  delineates  it.  But  no  author  surpasses  him  in  selecting  the 
most  prominent  and  picturesque  ingredients  of  a  figure  which  make 
the  deepest  impression.  He  is  never  general  or  diffuse,  qualities  which 
are  found  to  be  very  hostile  to  the  success  of  this  species  of  writing. 
Example  1.  He  thus  describes  the  scenes  of  morning  in  the  Allegro. 

"  To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight, 
And  singing,  startle  the  dull  ni^ht, 
From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 
Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise  : 
While  the  eock,  with  lively  din, 
Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin, 
And  to  the  stack,  or  the  barn-door. 
Stately  struts  his  dames  before : 
Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Chterly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn  ; 
While  the  ploughman  near  at  hand 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrow'd  land, 
And  the  milk-maid  singing  blythe, 
And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe ; 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale, 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale." 

Example  2.  The  Penseroso  presents  the  following  account  of  the 
objects  of  the  evening. 

"  Oft  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground, 
I  hear  the  far-off  curfew  sound 
Over  some  wide-watertd  shore, 
Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar. 
Or,  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 
Some  still  removed  place  will  fit, 
Where  glowing  embers  through  the  room 
Teach  light  to  countf  rfeit  a  gloom, 
Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth, 
Sa\  e  the  cricket  on  the  hearth, 

Or  the  bellman's  drowsy  charm,  * 

To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm ; 
Or  let  my  lamp  and  midnight  hour, 
Be  seen  in  some  high  lonely  tow'r. 
Sometimes  let  gorgeous  tragedy. 
In  sceptre'd  pall,  come  sweeping  by, 
Presenting  Fhebes'  or  Pelop's  hne, 
Or  the  tale  ot  Troy  divine." 

Ohs.  4.  The  elegant  genius  of  Parnell  has  produced  some  beautiful 
examples  of  descriptive  poetry  ;  and  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  he  had 
not  indulged  the  world  with  more  specimens.  H<j  possessed  a  fine  im- 
agination, a  most  correct  taste,  and  great  knowledge  of  human  natur<». 
His  versification  is  not  inferior  to  that  of  Pope  in  melody  and  concise- 


59£  Descriptive  Poetry, 

ness,  and  is  superior  in  simplicity  and  perspicuity.  It  teems  with  in 
struction,  with  the  genuine  la.-iguage  oi"  the  heart  ',  and  ther-i  is  no 
poctr^',  perhaps,  which  the  reader  ca»i  peiuse^o  often  with  piKasure- 

Examplt  1.  The  Hermit  is  an  extremely  beauliiul,  morai.  'k^crip- 
tive  poem,  fraught  with  imporcant  instruction,  coiumutiicaied  in  p  sim- 
ple, but  dignified  manner,  and  recommended  by  the  most  delicate  ap- 
peals to  the  imagination. 

2:  All  the  great  epic  poets  exhibit  eminent  specimens  o^dcsci-it>tive 
poetry.  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Ossian,  excel  in  il.  The  following  pictur« 
of  desolation,  by  Ossian,  is  conreivei  with  much  vigour  of  '  niigina- 
tion. 

*'  I  have  seen  the  walls  of  BalcU  tha,  but  they  were  t^^solatn.  The 
flames  had  resounded  in  the  halls,  and  the  voice  of  ihe  people  is  heard 
no  more.  Tlie  stream  of  C'utha  was  removed  from  iis  coarse  by  the 
fall  of  the  walls.  The  thistle  .«hoak  there  its  loiiely  head  ;  the  moss 
whistled  in  the  wind.  The  fox  looked  out  f»oni  {Xw  wmdow,  and  the 
rank  grass  of  the  wall  waved  ronml  I) is  head.  Desolate  is  the  dwell- 
ing of  Morna  ;  silence  is  in  the  house  of  her  fathers  !" 

592.  The  chief  errors  committed  in  descriptions,  are  the 
admission  of  unmeaning  or  supernumerary  epithets  and 
phrases,  the  introduction  of  general  terms,  and  the  inter- 
mixture of  trivial  or  insignificant  circumstances  clothed  in 
pompous  and  splendid  language.  The  Dest  poets  are  some- 
times faulty  in  all  these  articles. 

lllus.  1,  All  general  terms  are  improper  In  descriptions,  because 
hey  suggest  either  no  idea  at  all,  or  none  that  is  fixt  d  ;  while  the  es« 
(Mice  of  picturesque  description  consists  in  prompting  conceptions 
*vhich  are  palpable,  and  of  which  the  miud,  of  course,  takes  firm  bold. 
These  can  result  only  from  objects  particular  and  distinct. 

Example.  Shakspeare,  to  expose  the  absurdity  of  attempting  a  thing 
impracticable,  says,  with  great  energy,  in  Henry  the  Fifth  :  "  You 
may  as  well  go  about  to  turn  the  sun  into  ice,  by  fanning  in  hin  face 
with  a  peacock's  feather." 

Annlyais,  Had  the  poet  made  the  expression  general,  by  leaving  out 
the  '•=  peacock's  feather,"  he  ^vould  have  mutilated  the  picture,  and  de- 
bilitated the  impression.  How  feeble  would  have  been  «hc  following 
phraseology  ?  "  You  may  as  well  go  about  to  turn  the  sun  into  ice,  by 
inning  in  his  face."  lla«l  he  retained  the  *'  feather,"  but  dropt  the 
peacock,"  the  expression  would  have  been  more  picturesque  :  ''  You 
may  as  well  go  about  to  turn  the  sun  into  ice,  by  fanning  his  face  with 
a  feather.  '  Even  this  picture,  however,  is  much  inferior  in  beauty  and 
vivacity  to  the  particular  language  the  poet  hath  thought  proper  to 
adopt  :  "  You  may  as  well  go  about  to  turn  the  sun  into  ice,  by  fan- 
ning in  his  face  vrith  a  peacock's  feather."  The  mind  grasps  the  im- 
age at  once,  and  is  struck  with  its  «prightliness  and  propriety, 

593.  Forced  elevation  of  the  expression  above  the  tone  of 
the  thought,  is  another  error  not  uncom.non  in  description. 

lllus.  Homer  relates,  that  Achilles  commanded  his  domestics  to  pre- 
pare a  ve.  ^el  to  beat  water  for  washing  the  dead  body  of  Patroclus, 
which  they  accordingly  performed.  Nothing  can  be  more  simple  than 
I  he  language  of  the  poet.  Things  are  called  by  their  proper  names, 
and  ycry  few  epithets  are  added.    Tope  must   improve  this  simple 


Epic  Poe(ry.  293 

l^^hrascology,  and  he  has  communicated  to  it  an  air  of  ridicule,  by  the 
poiapous  and  figurative  expression  of  his  translation.    Iliad,  xviii.  406, 

«  A  massy  cauldron  of  stupendous  frame 

They  brought,  and  placed  it  o'er  the  rising  flame ; 
Then  heaji'd  the  lighted  wood  ;  the  flame  divides 
Beneath  the  vase,  and  climbs  around  its  sides. 
In  its  wide  womb  they  pour  the  rushing  stream, 
The  boiling  water  bubbles  to  the  brim." 

594.  It  often  happens,  that  a  description  presents  objects 
which  would  be  extremely  disagreeable  to  the  sight,  while 
the  description  itself  is  not  only  not  disagreeable,  but  con- 
veys high  pleasure.  This  is  a  curious  phenomenon,  and 
merits  some  attention.  Two  causes  seem  to  concur  in  pro- 
ducing this  effect. 

Illus.  A  poetical  description  resembles  an  historical  painting,  the 
merit  of  which  consists  in  communicating  to  the  different  figures  the 
same  positions  and  appearance  that  they  hold  in  nature.  And  al- 
though the  figures  be  disagreeable,  yet  the  picture  may  yield  much 
pleasure,  because  the  merit  of  it  lies  in  the  accuracy  of  the  imitation. 
The  mind  surveys  with  delight  the  excellence  of  an  art  which  can  im- 
itate nature  so  completely.  The  purpose  of  the  description,  as  well  as 
of  the  picture,  is  to  impart  exact  ideas  of  the  objects,  though  it  ope- 
rates by  words  instead  of  colours.  The  imitation,  in  both  cases,  is  the 
chief  source  of  the  pleasure.  The  pleasure  of  the  imitation  much  more 
than  counterbalances  the  disgust  arising  from  the  inspection  of  the  ob- 
ject. This  seems  to  be  the  first  cause.  Words,  again,  have  a  beauty 
in  their  sound  and  arrangement,  independent  of  their  signification  ; 
the  merit  of  the  execution  in  the  picture,  and  of  the  composition  m 
the  description,  affords  delight.  This  seems  to  be  tlie  second  cause. 
Both  causes  concur  to  counteract  the  disgust  excited  by  the  object. 

Scholium.  These  remarks  point  out  the  greatest  beauty  of  descrip- 
tion, which  takes  place  when  the  object,  the  imitation,  and  the  expres- 
sion, all  concur  to  augment  the  pleasure  of  the  reader.  Jn  all  other 
cas«s,  these  partially  oppose  the  effects  of  one  another. 

If,  however,  an  object  prompt  horror,  no  excellence  of  imitation  or 
language  can  recommend  its  description.  The  picture  of  Sin,  in  Para- 
dise Lost,  though  drav/n  with  the  brightest  colours,  is  of  this  clas.s.  It 
excites  horror,  and  all  Milton's  eloquence  cannot  render  it  tolerable. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

EPIC  POETRY. 


595.  EPIC  and  dramatic  poetry  are  universally  allowed 
to  be  the  most  dignilied,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  most 
difficult  species  of  poetic  composition.  To  contrive  a  story 
which  shall  please  and  interest  all  readers,  by  being  at  once 
entertaining,  important,  and  instructive ;  to  fill  it  with  suit- 


:294  JEpic  Poetry. 

able  incidents  ;  to  enliven  it  with  a  variety  of  character;?, 
and  of  descriptions  ;  and,  throughout  a  long  work,  to  main- 
tain that  propriety  of  sentiment,  and  that  elevation  of  style, 
which  the  epic  character  requires,  is  unquestionably  the 
highest  effort  of  poetical  genius.  Hence  so  very  few  have 
succeeded  in  the  attempt,  that  strict  critics  will  ^hardly  al- 
low any  other  poems  to  bear  the  name  of  epic,  except  the 
Iliad  aiid  the  J!ineid. 

Illus.  1.  The  plain  account  of  the  nature  of  an  epic  poem  is,  the  re- 
ital  of  some  illustrious  enterprize  in  a  poetical  form.  This  is  an  exact 
lefinition  of  this  subject.  It  comprehends  several  other  poems,  be- 
Ades  the  Iliad  of  Homer,  the  iEneid  of  V^irg^il,  a)id  the  Jerusalem  of 
lasso  ;  which  are,  perhaps,  the  three  most  regrilar  and  complete  epic 
works  that  ever  were  composed.  But  to  exclude  all  poems  fioiy  the 
epic  class,  which  are  not  formed  exactly  upon  the  same  model  as  these, 
^  the  pedantry  of  criticism. 

2.  VVe  can  give  exact  definitions  and  descriptions  of  minerals,  plants, 
nd  animals  ;  and  can  arrange  them  with  precision,  under  the  clifTer- 
iit  classes  to  which  they  belongs,  because  nature  aflbrds  a  visible  un- 
aryiug  standard,  to  which  we  refer  them.  But  with  regard  to  works 
t  taste  and  imagination,  where  nature   has  fixed  no  standard,  but 

caves  scope  for  beauties  o^  many  different  kinds,  it  is  absurd  to  at- 
tempt defining  and  limiting  them  with  the  same  preciBion. 

3.  Criticism,  when  employed  in  such  attempts,  degenerates  into 
trifling  questions  about  words  and  names  only. 

4.  The  most  coinpotent  judges,  tlierefore,  have  no  scruple  to  class 
such  poems,  as  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  Lncan's  Pharsalia,  Stalius's 
rhebaid,  Ossian's  Fingal  and  Temora,  Camoens'  Lusiad,  Voltaire's 
llcnriade,  Fenelon's  Telemachus,  Glover's  Leonidas,  and  Wilkie's 
'  pigoniad,  under  the  same  species  of  composition  with  the  Iliad  and 

iie  .'I'^neid  ;  though  some  of  them  approach  much  nearer  than  others 
)  the  perfection  of  these  celebrated  works.  They  are,  undoubtedly, 
II  epic  ;  that  is,  poetical  rcriials  of  great  adventures;  which  is  all 
iiat  is  meant  by  this  denominaiion  of  poetry.     (Illus.  1.) 

5.  The  end  which  epic  poetry  proposes,  is  to  extend  our  ideas  of 
i 1 11  man  perfection  :  or,  in  other  words,  to  excite  admiration.  Now 
this  can  be  accomplished  only  by  proper  representations  of  heroic 
ileeds,  and  virtuous  characters.  For  high  virtue  is  the  object,  which 
all  mankind  are  formed  to  admire  ;  and,  therefore,  epic  poems  are, 
and  must  be,  favourable  to  ilie  cause  of  virtue.  Valour,  truth,  justice, 
fidelity,  friendship,  piety,  magnanimity,  are  the  objects  which,  in  the 
course  of  such  compositions,  are  presented  to  our  minds,  under  the 
most  splendid  and  honourable  colours. 

6.  In  behalf  of  virtuous  personages,  our  affections  are  engaged  ;  in 
their  designs,  and  their  distresses,  we  are  interested  ;  the  generous 
nnd  public  afTections  are  awakened  ;  the  mind  is  purified  from  sensual 

iid  mean  pursuits,  and  accustomed  to  take  part  in  great,  heroic  en- 
jrprises.  It  is,  indeed,  no  small  testimony  in  honour  of  virtue,  that 
se'  eral  of  the  most  refined  and  elegant  entertainments  of  mankind, 
such  as  that  species  of  poetical  composition  whic!)  we  now  consider, 
must  be  grounded  on  moral  sentiments  and  impressions  This  is  a 
testimony  of  such  weight,  that,  were  it  in  the  power  of  sceptical  phi- 
losophers, to  weaken  the  force  of  those  reasonings  which  establish  the 


Spic  Poetry.  295 

<*ssetttial  distinctions  between  vice  and  virtue,  the  writings  of  epic  po- 
^t«  alone  were  sufficient  to  refute  their  false  philosophy  ;  shewing,  by 
that  appeal  which  they  constantly  make  to  the  feelings  of  mankind  in 
favour  of  virtue,  that  the  foundations  of  it  are  laid  deep  and  strong  in 
human  nature. 

596.  The  general  strain  and  spirit  of  epic  composition, 
sufficiently  mark  its  distinction  from  the  other  kinds  of 
poetry. 

Illus.  1.  In  pastoral  writing,  the  reigning  idea  is  innocence  and 
tranquillity.  Compassion  is  the  great  object  of  tragedy  ;  ridicule  the 
province  of  comedy.  The  predominant  character  of  the  epic  is,  admi- 
ration excited  by  heroic  actions. 

2.  It  is  sufficiently  distinguished  from  history,  both  by  its  poetical 
form,  and  the  liberty  of  fiction  which  it  assumes.  It  is  a  more  calm 
composition  than  tragedy.  It  admits,  nay,  requires,  the  pathetic  and 
the  violent,  on  particular  occasions  ;  but  the  pathetic  is  not  expected 
to  be  its  general  character.  It  requires,  more  than  any  other  species 
of  poetry,  a  grave,  equal,  and  supported  dignity. 

8.  It  takes  in  a  greater  compass  of  time  and  action,  than  dramatic 
writing  admits  ;  and  thereby  allows  a  more  full  display  of  charact/^rs. 
Dramatic  writings  display  characters  chiefly  by  means  of  sentiments 
and  passions  ;  epic  poetry,  chiefly  by  means  of  actions.  The  emo- 
tions, therefore,  which  it  raises,  are  not  so  violent,  but  they  are  more 
prolonged. 

Obs.  These  are  the  general  characteristics  of  this  species  of  compo- 
sition. But,  in  order  to  give  a  more  particular  and  critical  view  of  it, 
let  us  consider  the  epic  poem  under  three  heads  ;  first,  with  respect  to 
the  subject,  or  action  ;  secondly,  with  respect  to  the  actors,  or  char* 
acters  ;  and,  lastly,  with  respect  to  the  narration  of  the  poet. 

597.  The  action,  or  subject  of  the  epic  poem,  must  have 
three  qualifications  :  it  must  be  one^  it  must  be  great ; 
it  must  be  interesting, 

Illus.  1.  First,  it  must  be  one  action,  or  enterprise,  which  the  poet 
chooses  for  his  subject. 

Example  1.  In  all  the  great  epic  poems,  unity  of  action  is  sufficient- 
ly apparent.  Virgil,  for  instance,  has  chosen  for  his  subject,  the  es- 
tablishment of  ^neas  in  Italy.  From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the 
poem,  this  object  is  ever  in  our  view,  and  links  ali  the  parts  of  it  to- 
gether with  full  connection.  The  unity  of  the  Odyssey  is  of  the  same 
nature  ;  the  return  and  re-establishment  of  Ulysses  in  his  own  country. 
The  subject  of  Tasso  is  the  recovery  of  Jerusalem  from  the  Infidels  ; 
«hat  of  Milton,  the  expulsion  of  our  first  parents  from  Paradise  ;  and 
both  of  them  are  unexceptionable  in  the  unity  of  the  story. 

2.  The  professed  subject  of  the  Iliad,  is  the  anger  of  Achilles,  with 
the  consequences  which  it  produced.  The  Greeks  carry  on  many  un- 
successful engagements  against  the  Trojans,  as  long  as  they  are  depri- 
ved of  the  assistance  of  Achilles.  Upon  his  being  appeased  and  recon- 
ciled to  Agamemnon,  victory  follows,  and  the  poem  closes. 

Jlnalyais.  It  must  be  owned,  however,  that  the  unity,  or  connecting 
principle,  is   not  quite  so  sensible  to   the  imagination  here,  as  in  the 
.<^heid.     For,  throughout  manv  books  of  the  Iliad,  Achilles  is  ouf  of 
'26 


296  Epic  Voetry, 

siglit  ;  he  is  lost  in  inaction  ;  and  the  fancy  dwells  ou  no  other  object 
than  the  success  of  the  two  armies  that  we  see  contending  in  war. 

Illus.  2.  The  unity  of  the  epic  action  is  not  to  be  so  strictly  interpret- 
ed, as  if  it  excluded  all  episodes,  or  subordinate  actions. 

3.  Episodes,  are  certain  actions,  or  incidents,  introduced  into  the 
iiarration,  connected  with  the  principal  action,  yet  not  of  such  import- 
ance as  to  destroy  the  main  subject  of  the  poem,  if  they  had  been 
omitted. 

Example.  Of  this  nature  are  the  interview  of  Hector  with  Androma- 
che, in  the  Iliad  ;  the  story  of  Caucus,  and  that  of  Nisus  and  Euryalus, 
in  the  i^neid  ;  the  adventures  of  Tancred  with  Erminia  and  Clorinda, 
in  the  Jerusalem  ;  and  the  prospect  of  his  descendants  exhibited  to 
Adam,  in  the  last  booki  of  Paradise  Lost. 

598.  Such  episodes  as  these,  are  not  only  permitted  to 
an  epic  puet ;  but,  provided  they  be  properly  executed,  are 
great  ornaments  to  his  work.  The  rules  regarding  them 
are  tiie  following: 

599.  Rule  first.  They  must  be  naturally  introduced  ; 
ihey  must  have  a  sufficient  connection  with  the  subject  of 
lilt  poem  ;  they  must  be  inferior  parts  that  belong  to  it ; 
but  not  mere  appendages  stuck  to  it. 

Whs.  The  episode  of  Oiinda  and  Sophronia,  io  the  second  book  of 
Tasso's  Jerusalem,  is  faulty,  by  transgressin*^  this  rule.  It  is  too  much 
detached  from  the  rest  of  the  work;  and  being  introduced  so  near 
the  opening  of  the  poem,  misleads  tlie  reader  into  an  expectation,  that 
it  is  to  be  of  some  future  consequence ;  whereas  it  proves  to  be  con- 
nected with  nothing  that   follows.     In  proportion   as   any  episode   is 

ligluly  related  to  the  main  subject,  it   shoidd  always  be  the  shorter. 

The  passion  of  Dido  in  the  j¥a\q\6,  and  the  snares  of  Armida  in  the 
Jerusalem,  wliich  are  expanded  so  fully  in  these  poera»,  cannot  with 
propriety  be  called  episodes.  They  are  constituent  parts  of  the  work, 
and  form  a  considerable  share  of  the  intrigue  of  the  poem. . 

600.  Rule  second.  Episodes  ought  to  present  to  us,  ob- 
jects of  a  different  kind,  from  those  which  go  before,  and 
those  which  follow,  in  the  course  of  the  poem.  For  it  is 
principally  for  the  sake  of  variety,  that  episodes  are  intro- 
duced into  an  epic  composition.  In  so  long  a  work,  they 
lend  to  diversify  the  subject,  and  to  relieve  the  reader,  by 
b^hifting  tiie  scene.  In  ihe  midst  of  combats,  therefore,  an 
episode  of  the  martial  kind  would  be  out  of  place  ;  whereas, 
liector's  visit  to  Andromache  in  the  Iliad,  and  Erminia's 
adventure  with  the  shepherd,  in  the  seventh  book  of  the  .Te- 
rusalciii,  allbrds  us  a  w^ell-judged  and  pleasing  retreat  from 
camps  and  battles. 

601.  Rule  third.  As  an  episode  is  a  professed  embellish- 
ment ^  it  ought  to  be  particularly  elegant  :i\\i\  ivell-Jinished  ; 
and,  accordingly,  it  is,  for  the  most  part,  in  pieces  of  this 
kind,  that  poets  put  forth  their  strength.     The  episodes  of 


Epic  Poetry.  297 

Teribazus  and  Ariana,  in  Leonidas,  and  of  the  death  of 
Hercules,  in  the  Eriigoniad,  are  the  two  greatest  beauties  in 
these  poems 

60'2.  The  unity  of  the  epic  action  necessarily  supposes, 
that  the  action  be  entire  and  corapleie  /  that  is,  as  Aristotle 
well  expresses  it,  that  it  have  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an 
end. 

Illus.  Either  by  relating  the  whole,  in  his  own  person,  or  by  intro- 
ducin<;  sorae  ot"  his  actors  to  relate  what  had  passed  before  the  open- 
ing c.i  the  pot;m,  the  atithor  must  always  contrive  to  give  us  full  in- 
formation of  every  thing  that  belongs  to  his  subject ;  he  must  not  leave 
our  cariosity,  in  any  article,  ungratified  ;  he  must  bring  us  precisely  to 
the  uccomplrshment  of  his  plan  ;  and  then  conclude. 

603.  The  second  qualification  of  an  epic  action,  is,  that 
\ih^  great ;  that  it  have  sufficient  splendour  and  import- 
ance, both  to  fix  our  attention,  and  to  justify  the  magnificent 
apparatus  which  the  poet  bestows  upon  it. 

Ohs.  This  is  so  evidently  requisite  as  not  to  require  illustration  ;  and 
mdeed,hardly  any  who  have  attempted  epic  poetry,  have  failed  iji  choos- 
ing some  subject  sufficiently  important,  eHher  by  the  nature  of  the  ac- 
tion, or  by  the  fame  of  the  personages  concerned  in  it. 

604.  It  contributes  to  the  grandeur  of  the  epic  subject, 
that  it  be  7iot  of  a  modern  date,  nor  fall  within  any  period 
of  history  with  which  we  are  intimately  acquainted. 

Ohs.  Both  Lucan  and  Voltaire  have,  in  the  choice  of  their  subjects, 
transgressed  this  rule,  and  they  have,  upon  that  account,  succeeded 
worse.  Antiquity  is  favourable  to  those  high  and  august  ideas  which 
epic  poetry  is  designed  to  raise.  It  tends  to  aggrandize,  in  our  imagin- 
ation, both  persons  and  events  ;  and  what  is  still  more  material,  it  al- 
lows the  poet  the  liberty  of  adorning  his  subject  by  means  of  fiction. 
Whereas,  as  soon  as  he  comes  within  the  verge  of  real  and  authenti- 
cated history,  this  liberty  is  abridged. 

605.  The  third  property  required  in  the  epic  poem,  is, 
that  it  be  interesting.  It  is  not  sufficient  for  this  purpose 
that  it  be  great.  For  deeds  of  mere  valour,  how  heroic 
soever,  may  prove  cold  and  tiresome. 

Illus.  Much  will  depend  on  the  happy  choice  of  some  subject,  which 
shall,  by  its  nature,  interest  the  public  :  as  when  the  poet  selects  for 
his  hero,  one  who  is  the  founder,  or  the  deliverer,  or  the  favourite  of 
his  nation  ;  or  when  he  vtrites  of  acijievomcnts  that  iiavc  been  liigiily 
celebrated,  or  have  been  connecteil  with  important  consequences  to 
any  public  cause.  Most  of  the  great  epic  poems  are  abundantly  fortu- 
nate in  this  respect,  and  were,  no  doubt,  as  interesting  to  those  ages 
and  countries  in  which  they  were  composed,  as  they  are  to  us. 

606.  But  the  chief  circumstance  which  renders  an  epic 
poem  interesting,  and  which  tends  to  interest,  not  one  age 


-98  Epic  Poetry. 

or  country  alone,  but  all  readers,  is  the  skilful  conduct  of 
ihe  author  in  the  management  of  his  subject. 

lllus.  He  must   so  contrive  his  plan,  as   that    it  shaU  comprehend 
many  afiecting  incidents.     He  must   not   dazzle  us   perpetually  with 
aliant  achievements  ;  for  all  readers  become  tired  of  constant  fight- 
iig.  and   battles  ;  but  he  must  study  to   touch  our   hearts.     He  may 
)metimes  be  awful  and  august ;  he  must  often  be  tender  and  pathet- 
'   ;  he  mtist  give  us  gentle  and  pleasing  scenes  of  love,  friendship,  and 
=  iTection.     The  more  an  epic  poem  abounds  with  situations  which  awa- 
en  the  feelings  of  humanity,  the  more  interesting  it  is  :  and  these  al- 
ways form  the  favourite   passages  of  the  work.     No  epic  podts  are 
mole  happy  in  this  respect  than  Virgil  and  Tasso. 

607-  Much,  too,  depends  on  the  characters  of  the  heroes, 
or  rendering  the  poem  interesting ;  that  they  be  such  as 
iiall  strongly  attach  the  readers,  and  make  them  take  part 
II  the  dangers  which  the  heroes  encounter. 

Illui.  These  dangers,  or  obstacles,  form  what  is  called  the  nodus, 
r  the  intrigue  of  the  epic  poem  ;  in  the  judicious  conduct  of  which 
onsists  much  of  the  poet's  art.  He  must  rouse  our  attention  by  a 
prospect  of  the  difficulties  which  seem  to  threaten  disappointment  to 
the  enterprise  of  his  favourite  personages  ;  he  must  make  these  diffi- 
i-.ulties  grow  and  tliicken  upon  us,  by  degrees  ;  till,  after  having  kept 
us,  for  some  time,  in  n  state  of  agitati6n  and  suspense,  he  paves  the 
uay,  by  a  proper  preparation  of  incidents,  for  the  winding  up  of  the 
}>lot  in  a  natural  and  probable  manner.  Jt  is  plain,  that  every  tale 
v\  Iiich  is  designed  to  engage  attention,  must  be  conducted  on  a  plan  of 
this  sort. 

608.  A  question  has  been  moved,  Whether  the  nature  of 
ilie  epic  potMH  does  not  require  that  it  should  always  end 
successfully  ?  Most  critics  are  inclined  to  think,  that  a 
•successful  issue  is  the  most  proper  ;  and  they  appear  to 
have  reason  on  their  side.  An  unhappy  conclusion  depress- 
es the  mind,  and  is  opposite  to  the  elevating  emotions  which 
belong  io  i\\\<  species  of  poetry. 

609.  With  regard  to  the  time  or  duration  of  the  epic  ac- 
tion, no  precise  boundaries  can  be  ascertained.  A  consid- 
erable extent  is  always  allowed  to  it,  as  it  does  not  neces- 
sarily depenil  on  those  violent  passions  which  can  be  suppo- 
sed to  have  only  a  short  continuance. 

illus.  The  Iliad,  which  is  formed  upon  the  anger  of  Achilles,  has, 
with  propriety,  the  shortest  duration  of  any  of  the  great  epic  poems. 
According  to  Bossu,  the  action  lasts  no  longer  than  forty-seven  days. 
The  action  of  the  Odyssey,  computed  from  the  taking  of  Troy  to  the 
peace  of  Ithaca,  extends  to  eight  years  and  a  half;  and  the  action  of 
the  .^]neid,  computed  in  the  same  way,  from  the  taking  of  Troy  to  the 
death  of  Turnus,  includes  about  six  years.  But  if  we  measure  the  pe- 
riod only  of  the  poet's  own  narration,  or  compute  from  the  time  in 
which  the  hero  makes  his  first  appearance,  till  the  conclusion,  the  du- 
ration of  both  these  last  poems  is  brought  within  a  much  smaller  com- 


Epic  Poetry,  £99 

pass.  The  Odyssey,  beginninef  with  Ulysses  in  the  island  of  Calvpso, 
comprehends  fifty-eight  days  only  :  and  the  .^neid,  beginning  with 
the  storm,  which  throws  jEneas  upon  the  coast  of  Africa,  is  reckoned  to 
include,  at  the  most,  a  year  and  some  months. 

Obs.  Having  thus  treated  of  the  epic  action, or  the  subject  of  tliepoem, 
we  proceed  next  to  make  some  observations  on  the  actors  or  personages. 

610.  As  it  is  the  business  of  an  epic  poet  to  copy  after  na- 
ture, and  to  form  a  pir.bable  interesting  tale,  he  must  study 
to  give  all  his  personages  proper  and  well-supported  charac- 
ters, such  as  display  the  features  of  the  human  nature. 
This  is  what  Aristotle  calls,  giving  manners  to  the  poem. 

Ohs.  It  is  by  no  means  necessary,  that  all  his  actors  be  morali . 
good  ;  imperfect,  nay,  vicious  characters,  may  find  a  proptr  |)Jace  ; 
though  the  nature  of  epic  poetry  seems  to  require,  that  the  prititip.ii 
tlgures  exhibited  should  be  such  as  tend  to  raise  admiration  and  love, 
rather  than  hatred  or  conlcmpt.  But  whatever  the  character  be  wluc  h 
a  poet  gives  to  any  of  his  actors,  he  must  take  care  to  preserve  it  uni- 
form, and  consistent  with  itself.  Every  thing  which  that  person  says, 
or  does,  must  be  suited  to  tliis  uniformity,  and  must  serve  to  distingiiijh 
liim  from  any  other. 

611.  Poetic  characters  may  be  divided  into  two  kirid^, 
general  and  particular. 

1*/.  General  characters  are,  such  as  wise,  brave,  virtuous, 
without  any  farther  distinction. 

9,ncL  Particular  characters  express  the  species  of  brave- 
ry, of  wisdom,  of  virtue,  for  which  any  one  is  eminent. 

Illus.  They  exhibit  the  peculiar  features  which  distinguish  one  indi- 
vidual from  another,  which  mark  the  difference  of  the  same  moral 
quality  in  different  men,  accorciing  as  it  is  combined  with  other  dispo- 
sitions in  their  temper.  In  drawing  such  particular  characters,  the 
genius  of  the  poet  is  chiefly  exerted. 

Obs.  In  (his  part.  Homer  has  principally  excelled;  Tasgo  has  como 
the  nearest  to  Homer  ;  and  Virgil  has  been  the  most  deficient. 

612.  It  has  been  the  practice  of  all  epic  poets,  to  select 
some  one  personage,  whom  they  distinguish  above  all  the 
rest,  and  make  the  hero  of  the  tale.  This  is  considered  as 
essential  to  epic  composition,  and  is  attended  with  several 
advantages. 

Illus.  1.  It  renders  the  unity  of  the  subject  more  sensible,  when  there 
is  on  a  principal  figure,  to  which,  as  to  a  centre,  all  the  rest  refer.  It 
tends  to  interest  us  more  in  the  enterprise  which  is  carried  on  ;  and  it 
gives  the  poet  an  opportunity  of  exerting  his  talents  for  adorning  and 
displaying  one  character,  with  peculiar  splendour. 

2.  It  has  been  asked,  VVho  then  is  the  hero  of  Paradise  Lost  ?  Satan, 
it  has  been  answered  by  some  critics  ;  but  Adam  is  undoubtedly  t!ie 
hero  ;  that  is,  the  capital  and  most  interesting  figure  ii.  the  poem. 

613.  Besides  human  actors,  there  are  personages  of  an- 
other kind,  that  usually  occupy  no  small  place  in  epic  noet- 


300  £pic  Poetry, 

ry  5  namely,  the  gods,    or   supernatural   beings ;  forming 
what  is  called  the  machinery  of  the  epic  poem. 

Illus.  1.  Almost  all  the  French  critics  decide  in  favour  of  machinery, 
as  essential  to  the  constitution  of  an  epic  poem.  This  decision  seems 
to  be  founded  on  the  practice  of  Homer  and  Virgil.  These  poets  very 
properly  embellished  their  story  by  the  traditional  tales  and  popular 
rreuds  of  their  own  country  ;  according^  to  which,  all  the  great  trans- 
tions  of  the  heroic  times  were  intermixed  with  the  fables  of  their  dei- 
-05.     (Illus.  J rt.  29.) 

2.  In  other  countries,  and  other  ages,  where  there  is  not  the  like  ad- 
vantagc  of  current  superstition,  and  popular  credulity,  epic  poetry  has 
l»oen  differently  conducted.  Lucan  has  composed  a  very  spirited  poem, 
<  irtainly  of  the  epic  kind,  where  neither  gods  nor  supernatural  beings 

re  at  all  employed.  l"iic  author  of  Leonidas  has  made  an  attempt  of 
M?  same  kind,  not  without  success  ;  and  beyond  doubt,  wherever  a 
'Ct  gives  us  a  regular  heroic  story,  well  connected  in  its  parts,  adorn- 
l  with  characters,  and  supported  with  proper  dignity  and  elevation, 
lough  his  agents  be  every  one  of  them  human,  he  has  fulfilled  the  chief 
luisites  of  this  sort  of  composition,  and  has  a  just  title  to  be  classed 
ith  epic  writers. 

3.  Mankind  do  not  consider  poetical  writings  with  a  philosophical 
e,  Tiicy  seek  entertainment  from  them  ;  and  for  the  bulk  of  rcad- 
■;,  indeed  for  almost  all  men,  the  marvellous  has  a  great  charm.  It 
wtifies  and  fills  the  imagination  ;  and  gives  room  for  many  striking 
ul  sublime  descriptions.  In  epic  poetry,  in  particular,  where  admi- 
aion  juid  lofty  ideas  arc  supposed  to  reign,  the  marvellous  and  super- 
Uural  find,  if  any  where,  their  proper  place.  They  both  enable  the 
oot  to  aggrandize  his  subject,  by  means  of  those  august  and  solemn 
•jerts  which  religion  and  sui  ernatural  agents  introduce  into  it ;  and 
ii'V  allow  him   to  enlarge  and  diversify  his  plan,  by  comprehending 

^  -thin  it  the  realities  of  earth,  the  probabilitieg  of  Elysium  and  of  Tar- 
;:  us,  men  and  invisible  beings,  and  the  whole  circle  of  the  universe. 

G14.  At  the  same  time,  in  the  use  of  this  supernatural 
machinery,  it  becomes  a  poet  to  be  temperate  and  prudent* 
le  is  not  at  liberty  to  invent  what  system  of  the  marvel- 
»us  he  pleases.  It  must  always  have  some  foundation  in 
t!)pular  beli»if.  He  must  avail  himself  in  a  decent  manner, 
ither  of  the  religious  faith,  or  the  superstitious  credulity  of 
he  country  wherein  he  lives,  or  of  which  he  writes,  so  as  to 
ive  an  air  of  probability  to  events  which  are  most  contrary 

0  the  common  course  of  nature. 

///lis-.  Whatever  machinery  he  employs,  he  must  not  overload  us  with 

1  ;.  nor  withdraw  human  actions  and  manners  too  much  from  view, 
..or  obscure  them  under  a  cloud  of  incredible  fictions.  His  chief  bu- 
siness is  to  relate  to  mtn^  the  actions  and  the  exploits  of  men;  by  these 
orincipally  he  is  to  interest,  and  touch  our  hearts  ;  and,  therefore,  if 
probability  be  altogether  banished  from  his  work,  it  can  never  make  a 

U>ep  or  a  lasting  impression.  Paradise  Lost  being  altogether  theolo- 
gical, Milton's  supernatural  beings  form  not  the  machinery,  but  arc 
the  principal  actors  in  tlie  poem. 

615,  Allegorical  personages, /rtwe,  discord,  love,  and  the 


£pic  Poetry.  o01 

like,  it  may  be  safely  pronounced,  have  been  supposed  to 
form  the  worst  machinery  of  any. 

Illus.  In  description  they  are  sometimes  allowable,  and  may  serve 
for  embellishment ;  but  they  should  never  be  permitted  to  bear  any 
share  in  the  action  of  the  poem.  For  being  plain  and  declared  fictions, 
mere  names  of  general  ideas,  to  which  even  fancy  cannotr^ttribute  any 
existence  as  persons,  if  they  are  introduced  as  mingling  with  human 
actors,  an  intolerable  confusion  of  shadows  and  realities  arise,  and  all 
consistency  of  action  is  utterly  destroyed.     (See  Art.  307.  and  308.) 

616.  In  the  narration  of  the  poet,  which  is  the  la^t  head 
that  remains  to  be  considered,  it  is  not  material,  whether  he 
relate  the  whole  story  in  his  own  character,  or  introduce 
some  of  his  personages  to  relate  any  part  of  the  action  that 
had  passed  before  the  poem  opens. 

Illus.  Homer  follows  the  one  method  in  his  Iliad,  and  the  other  m 
liis  Odyssey.  ViVgil  has,  in  this  respect,  imitated  the  conduct  of  the 
Odyssey  ;  Tasso  that  of  the  Iliad. 

617.  In  the  proposition  of  the  subject,  the  invocation  of 
the  muse,  and  other  ceremonies  of  the  introduction,  poets 
may  vary  at  their  pleasure. 

Illus.  It  is  trifling  to  make  these  little  formalities  the  object  of  pre- 
cise rule,  any  farther,  than  that  the  subject  of  the  work  should  always 
be  clearly  proposed,  and  without  affected  or  unsuitable  pomp.  For, 
according  to  Horace's  noted  rule,  no  introduction  should  ever  set  out 
too  high,  or  promise  too  much,  lest  the  author  should  not  fulfil  the  ex- 
pectations he  has  raised. 

618.  What  is  of  most  importance  in  the  tenor  of  the  nar- 
ration is,  that  it  be  perspicuous^  animated,  and  enriched 
with  all  the  beauties  of  poetry.  No  sort  of  composition  re- 
quires more  strength,  dignity,  and^re  of  imagination,  than 
the  epic  poem. 

Illus.  1.  It  is  the  region  within  which  we  look  for  every  thing  that 
is  sublime  in  description,  tender  in  sentiment,  and  bold  and  lively  in  ex- 
j>i'ession  ;  and,  therefore,  thou;2:h  an  author's  plan  should  be  faultless, 
and  his  story  ever  so  well  conducted,  yet  if  he  be  feeble,  or  flat  in 
style,  destitute  of  aflecling  scenes,  and  deficient  in  poetical  colouring, 
he  can  have  no  success. 

2.  The  ornaments  v.hlch  epic  poetry  admits,  must  all  be  of  the  grave 
and  chaste  kind.  INothing  that  is  loose,  ludicrous,  or  affected,  finds 
any  place  there.  All  the  objects  which  it  presents  ought  to  be  either 
great,  or  tender,  or  pleasing.  Descriptions  of  disgusting  or  shocking 
objects  should  as  much  as  possible  be  avoided  ;  and  therefore  the  fa- 
ble of  the  Harpies,  in  the  third  book  of  the  iEneid,  and  the  allegory  of 
Sin  and  Death,  in  the  second  book  of  Paradise  Lost,  had  been  better 
omitted  in  these  celebrated  poems. 

Obs.  The  judicious  teacher  is  left  to  illustrate,  from  the  epic  poems 
to  which  we  have  referred,  the  several  branches  of  composition  and 
ornament  for  which  \ye  have  furnished  rules  or  criterra  of  judgment. 


302  Pronunciation,  or  Delivery, 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

GOiNCLUSION. 

ON  PRONUNCIATION,  OR  DELIVERY. 

619.  THE  great  objects  which  every  speaker  will  natu- 
rally have  in  view  in  forming  his  delivery,  are,  first,  to  speak 
so  as  to  be  fully  and  easily  understood  by  all  who  hear  him  ; 
and  next,  to  speak  with  grace  and  force,  so  as  to  please  and 
to  move  his  audience. 

620.  In  order  to  be  fully  and  easily  understood,  the  four 
chief  requisites  are,  a  due  degree  of  loudness  of  voice  ;  dis- 
tinctness; slowness;  and  propriety  of  pronunciation. 

621.  The  first  attention  of  every  public  speaker,  doubt- 
less, must  be  to  make  himself  be  heard  by  all  those  to  whom 
lie  speaks.  He  must  endeavour  to  fill  with  his  voice  tiie 
space  occupied  by  the  assembly. 

Obi.  1.  This  power  of  voice,  it  mny  be  thought,  is  wholly  a  natural 
talent.  It  is  so  in  a  g;ood  nieHsure  \  but,  however,  it  may  receive  con- 
siderable assistance  I'rom  art.  Much  depends  for  this  purpose  on  the 
proper  pitch  and  management  of  the  voice. 

2.  Kvery  man  has  three  pitches  in  his  voice  ;  the  high,  the  middle, 
and  th(;  low  one.  The  hig^h,  is  that  which  he  uses  in  calling  aloud  to 
some  one  at  a  distance.  The  low  is,  when  he  approaches  to  a  whis- 
{)er.  The  middle  is,  that  which  he  employs  in  common  conversation, 
\i\i\  which  he  should  generally  use  in  public  discourse. 

622.  In  the  next  place,  to  being  well  heard,  and  clearly 
understood,  distinctness  of  articulation  contributes  more, 
perhaps,  than  mere  loudness  of  sound. 

Obs.  The  quantity  of  sound  necessary  to  fill  even  a  large  space,  is 
mailer  than  is  commonly  imagined  :  and  with  distinct  articulation,  a 
nan  of  a  weak  voice  will  make  it  reach  farther  than  the  strongest  voice 
t  an  reach  without  distinct  articulation. 

Corol.  To  this,  therefore,  every  public  speaker  ought  to  pay  great  at- 
tention. Me  must  give  every  sound  wiiich  he  utters,  its  due  propor- 
tion, and  make  every  syllabic,  and  even  every  letter  in  the  word  which 
iic  pronounces,  be  heard  distinctly;  without  slurring,  whispering,  or 
suppressing  any  of  tlie  proper  sounds. 

623.  In  the  third  place,  in  order  to  articulate  distinctly, 
moderation  is  requisite  with  regard  to  the  speed  of  pro- 
nouncing. Precipitancy  of  speech  confounds  all  articula- 
tion, and  all  meaning. 

Obs.  We  need  scarcely  observe,  that  there  may  be  also  an  extreme 
on  the  onpositc  side.     It  is  obvious,  that  a  lifeless,  drawling  pronun- 


Pronunciation,  or  Delivery,  S05 

*diation,  which  allows  the  minds  of  the  hearers  to  be  always  outrunning^ 
the  speaker,  must  render  every  discourse  insipid  and  fatiguing.  But 
the  extreme  of  speaking  too  fast  is  much  more  common,  and  requires 
the  more  to  be  guarded  against,  because,  when  it  has  grown  up  into  a 
habit,  iew  errors  are  more  difficult  to  be  corrected. 

624.  After  these  fundamental  attentions  to  the  pitch  and 
management  of  the  voice,  to  distinct  articulation,  and  to  a 
proper  degree  of  slowness  of  speech,  what  a  public  speaker 
must,  in  the  fourth  place,  study,  is,  propriety  of  pronuncia- 
tion ;  or  the  giving  to  every  word  which  he  utters,  that 
sound,  which  the  most  polite  usage  of  the  language  appro- 
priates to  it ;  in  opposition  to  broad,  vulgar,  or  provincial 
pronunciation. 

Ohs.  This  is  requisite,  both  for  speaking  intelligibly,  and  for  speak- 
ing with  grace  or  beauty.  Instructions  concerning  this  article,  can  be 
given  by  the  living  voice  only. 

^^5,  Emphasis,  pauses,  tones,  and  gestures, 
626.  By  emphasis,  is  meant  a  stronger  and  fuller  sound 
of  voice,  by  which  we  distinguish  the  accented  syllable  of 
some  word,  on  which  we  design  to  lay  particular  stress,  and 
to  show  how  it  affects  the  rest  of  the  sentence. 

Obs.  1.  Sometimes  the  emphatic  word  must  be  distinguished  by  a 
particular  tone  of  voice,  as  well  as  by  a  stronger  accent.  On  the  right 
management  of  the  emphasis,  depend  the  whole  life  and  spirit  of  every 
discourse. 

2.  If  no  emphasis  be  4)laced  on  any  words,  not  only  is  discourse 
rendered  heavy  and  lifeless,  but  the  meaning  left  often  ambiguous.  If 
the  emphasis  be  placed  wrong,  we  pervert  and  confound  the  meaning 
wholly. 

Example.  *'  Do  you  ride  to  town  to  day  .?"  is  capable  of  no  fewer 
than  four  different  acceptations,  according  as  the  emphasis  is  differ- 
ently placed  on  the  words.  If  it  be  pronounced  thus  :  Do  you  ride  to 
town  to-day  ?  the  answer  may  naturally  be.  No  ;  I  send  my  servant  iu 
my  stead.  If  thus,  Do  you  ride  to  totvn  to-day  .?  No  ;  I  intend  to  walk. 
Do  you  ride /o /o?^77i  to  day .''  No;  I  ride  out  into  the  fields.  Do  you 
ride  to  town  to-day  f  No  ;  but  I  shall  to-morrow. 

Obs.  3.  In  like  manner,  in  solemn  discourse,  the  whole  force  and 
beauty  of  an  expression  often  depend  on  the  accented  word  ;  and  we 
may  present  to  the  hearers  quite  different  views  of  the  same  sentiment, 
by  placing  the  emphasis  differently. 

Example.  In  the  following  words  of  our  Saviour,  observe  in  what 
different  lights  the  thought  is  placed,  according  as  the  words  are  pro- 
nounced :  "  Judas,  betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  Man  with  a  kiss  ?"  Be- 
trayest  thou — makes  the  reproach  turn  on  the  infamy  of  treachery. 
Betrayest  thou — makes  it  rest,  upon  Judas's  connection  with  his  Mas- 
ter. Betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  Man — rests  it,  upon  the  Son  of  Man's 
personal  character  and  eminence.  Betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  Man 
with  a  kiss  ? — turns  it,  upon  his  prostituting  the  signal  of  peace  and 
friendship^  to  ^e  purpose  of  a  mark  of  destruction. 


.004  Pronunciation,  or  Deliver}/, 

627.  Next  to  emphasis,  the  pauses  in  speaking  flemand 
attention.  These  are  of  two  kinds;  first,  emphcfiical paus- 
es ;  and  next,  such  as  nnark  the  distinctions  of  senac, 

Illns.  1.  An  emphatical  pause  is  made,  after  something  has  been 
said  of  peculiar  moment,  and  on  which  we  want  to  fix  the  hearer's  at- 
tention. Sometimes  before  such  a  thing  has  been  said.  Tve  usher  it  in 
with  un  emphatical  pause.  Such  pauses  have  the  same  eifTeot  as  a  strong 
emphasis  ;  and  are  subject  to  the  same  rules  ;  especially  to  the  cau- 
tion just  now  given, of  not  repeatin^^  them  too  frequently  For  as  they 
excite  uncommi^n  attention,  and  of  course  raise  expectation,  if  the  im- 
portance of  the  matter  be  not  fully  answerable  to  such  expectation, 
they  occasion  disappointment  and  disgust. 

2.  But  the  most  frequent  and  the  principal  use  of  pauses,  ig  to  mark 
the  divisions  of  the  sense,  and  at  the  same  time  to  allow  the  speaker  to 
<lraw  his  breath  ;  and  the  proper  and  graceful  adjustment  of  such 
pauses  is  one  of  the  most  nice  and  tlifBcult  articles  in  delivery. 

628.  When  we  are  reading  or  reciting  verse,  there  is  a 
peculiar  difi&culty  in  making  the  pauses  justly.  The  dif- 
ficulty arises  from  the  melody  of  verse,  which  dictates  to 
the  ear  pauses  or  rests  of  its  own  ;  and  to  adjust  and  com- 
pound these  properly  with  the  pauses  of  the  sense,  so  as 
neither  to  hurt  the  ear,  nor  oftend  the  understanding,  is  so 
verv  nice  a  matter,  that  it  is  no  wontler  we  so  seldom  meet 
with  good  readers  of  poetry. 

lUus.  1,  There  are  two  kinds  of  pauses  that  belong  to  the  music  of 
verse  ;  one  is,  the  pause  at  the  end  of  the  line  ;  and  the  other,  the 
« resural  pause  in  the  middle  of  it.  With  regard  to  the  pause  at  the 
'  nd  of  the  line  ;  which  marks  that  strain  or  verse  to  be  finished,  rhyme 
;  onders  this  always  sensible,  and  in  some  measure  compels  us  to  ob- 
crve  it  in  our  pronunciation. 

2.  In  blank  verse,  where  there  is  a  greater  liberty  permitted  of  run- 
ning the  lines  into  one  another,  sometimes  without  any  suspension  in 
the  sense,  it  has  been  made  a  question,  Whether  in  reading  such  verse 
with  propriety,  any  regard  at  all  should  be  paid  to  the  close  of  a  line  ? 

^.  We  ought,  therefore,  certainly  to  read  blank  verse  so  as  to  make 
fvery  line  sensible  to  the  ear.  At  the  same  time,  in  doing  so,  every 
vppeurance  of  sing-song  and  tone  must  be  carefully  guardc<l  against. 
The  close  of  the  line,  where  it  makes  no  pause  iit  the  meaning,  ought 
o  be  marked,  not  by  such  a  tone  as  is  used  in  fini.<ihing  a  sentence  ; 
■  lit  without  either  letting  the  voice  fall,  or  elevating  it,  it  should  be 
iiarked  only  by  such  a  slight  suspension  of  sound,  as  may  distinguish 
the  passage  from  one  line  to  another  without  injuring  the  meaning. 

4.  The  other  kind  of  musical  pause,  is  that  which  falls  somewhere 
about  the  middle  of  the  verse,  and  divides  it  into  two  hemiiitichs  ;  a 
pause,  not  so  great  as  that  which  belongs  to  the  close  of  the  line,  but 
still  sensible  to  an  ordinary  ear.     (See  Jirt.  569.) 

629.  The  rule  of  proper  pronunciation  here  is,  to  regard 
only  the  pause  which  the  sense  forms ;  and  to  read  the  line 
accordingly.  The  neglect  of  the  ceesural  pause  may  make 
the  line  sound  somewliat  unharmoniouily ;  but  the  effect 


PrommciatiGn,  or  Delivery.  305 

would  be  much  worse,  it  the  sense  were  sacrificed  to  the 
sound. 

630.  Tones  in  pronunciation  are  different  both  from  em- 
phasis and  pauses  ;  they  consist  in  the  tnodulaiion  of  the 
voice,  and  the  notes  or  variations  of  sound  which  we  employ 
in  speaking. 

Illus.  1.  How  much  of  the  propriety,  the  force  and  grrace  of  dis- 
course, must  depend  on  these,  will  appear  from  tliis  single  considera- 
tion ;  that  to  almost  every  sentiment  we  utter,  more  especially  to  eve- 
ry strong  emotion,  nature  hath  adapted  some  peculiar  tone  of  voice  ', 
insomuch,  that  he  who  should  tell  another  that  he  was  \Qry  angry,  or 
much  grieved,  in  a  tonn  which  did  not  suit  such  emotions,  uistead  of 
being  believed,  would  be  laughed  at. 

2.  Sympathy  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  principles  by  which  per- 
suasive discourse  works  upon  the  mind.  The  speaker  endeavours  io 
tran.sfuse  into  his  hearers  his  own-sentiments  and  emotions  :  which  he 
can  never  be  successful  in  doing,  unless  he  utters  them  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  convince  the  hearers  that  he  "feels  them.  The  proper  ex- 
pression of  tones,  therefore,  deserves  to  be  attentively  studied  by  eve- 
ry one  who  would  be  a  successful  orator. 

3.  Follow  nature  ;  consider  how  she  teaches  you  to  utter  any  senti- 
ment or  feeling  of  your  heart  Imagine  a  subject  of  debate  started  in 
conversation  among  grave  and  wise  men,  and  yourself  bearing  a  share 
in  it.  Think  after  what  manner,  with  what  tones  and  inflections  of 
voice,  you  would  on  such  an  occasion  express  yourself,  when  you  were 
most  in  earnest,  and  sought  most  to  be  listened  to.  These  are  the 
tones  which  the  advocate  carries  with  him  to  the  bar,  the  clergyman, 
to  the  pulpit,  and  the  patriot  and  demagogue,  to  any  public  assembly. 
Let  then  these  be  the  foundation  of  your  manner  of  pronouncing,  and 
you  will  take  the  surest  method  of  rendering  your  delivery  both 
agreeable  and  persuasive. 

631.  Of  GESTURE,  or  what  is  called  action  in  public  dis- 
course, 

632.  The  fundamental  rule  as  to  propriety  of  actiony  is 
undoubtedly  the  same  with  what  hath  been  given  as  to  pro- 
priety of  tone.  Attend  to  the  looks  and  gestures,  in  which 
earnestness,  indignation,  compassion,  or  any  other  emotion, 
discovers  itself  to  most  advantage  in  the  common  inter- 
course of  men  ;  and  let  these  be  your  models. 

7//,..?.  1.  Some  of  these  looks  and  gestures  are  common  to  all  men  ; 
ani  there  are  also  certain  pet  uliarities  of  manner  which  distinguish 
cvt.r.  individual.  A  public  speaker  must  take  that  manner  which  is 
ni'> -i  natural  to  hiinsfif.     For  it  is  here,  just  as  in  tones. 

2.  li  is  not  the  b-^ino.ss  of  a  speaker  to  form  to  himself  a  certain 
sei  oi'  motions  and  vestures,  which  he  thinks  most  becoming  and 
agrec^able,  and  t  ^  practice  these  in  public,  without  their  having  any 
correspondence  to  the  riianncr  which  i?;  natural  to  I;?rn  in  private. 
Kis  j^cstures  and  motions  ought  all  to  •  irry  that  kind  of  expressiion 
wbicl'.  nature  has  dictated  to  him  ;  and  unless  tMr,  be  the  case,  it  is 
imnoiSiblCj  by  means  of  any  study,  to  avoid  their  appearing  stiff  and 
forced. 


wj6  Pronunciation,  or  Delivery. 

3.  The  study  of  action  in  public  speaking,  consists  chiefly  in  guard* 
ing  agninst  awkward  and  disagreeable  motions,  and  in  learning  to  per- 
form siicli  as  are  natural  to  the  speaker,  in  the  most  becoming  manner. 
For  thjj  end  it  has  been  advised  by  writers  on  this  subject,  to  practice 
before  a  mirror,  where  one  niJiy  see  and  judge  of  his  own  gestures. 

Scholiurji.  To  succeed  well  in  delivery,  nothing-  is  more  necessary 
than  for  a  speaker  to  guard  against  a  certain  flutter  of  spirits,  which 
is  peculiarly  incident  to  those  who  begin  to  speak  in  public.  He  must 
eiideavour,  above  all  things,  to  be  collected,  and  master  of  himself. 
For  this  end,  he  will  find  nothing  of  more  use  to  him,  than  to  study  to 
become  wholly  engaged  in  his  subject ;  to  be  possessed  with  a  sense  of 
its  importance  or  seriousness  ;  to  be  concerned  much  more  to  peffiuade 
than  to  please.  He  will  generally  please  most,  when  pleasing  is  not 
his  sole  nor  chief  aim.  This  is  the  only  rational  and  proper  method 
>f  raising  one's  self  above  that  timid  and  bashful  regard  to. an  audi- 
ncc,  which  is  so  ready  to  disconcert  a  speaker,  both  as  to  what  he  is 
;u  say,  and  as  to  his  manner  of  saying  it. 

Finally.     Guard  against  all  afff^rtation,  which  is  the  certain  ruin  of 
g^ood  delivery.     Let  your  manner,  whatever  it  is,  be  your  own  ;  nei- 
ther imitated  from  another,  nor  assumed  upon  some  imaginary  model, 
which  is  unnatural  to  you.     Whatever  is  native,  even  though  accom- 
;>anied  with  several  defects,  yet  is  likely  to  please  ;  because  it  has  the 
;)pearance  of  coming*  from  the  heart.     Whereas  a  delivery,  attended 
ith  several  acquired  graces  and   beauties,   if  it  be  not  easy  and  free, 
it  ketray  the  marks  of  art  and  affectation,  never  fails  to  disgnst. 


THE  i;m). 


13 


